


The Chaos Twins

by Kryptaria, rayvanfox



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF Q, Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M, Post-Skyfall, Slow Burn, Violence against Pillows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-09 09:30:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 69,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3244655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvanfox/pseuds/rayvanfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearing the age of mandatory retirement, James Bond and Alec Trevelyan have an uncertain future at MI6.  When Q finds himself saddled with the Chaos Twins instead of the specialists he wanted, he's convinced Mallory and Tanner have made the wrong choice. But with no other options, he has to find a way to teach two stubborn old dogs some very new tricks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CariZee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CariZee/gifts).



> As always, writing isn't a solitary endeavor. We're grateful to our betas who are, in alphabetical order: neverwhere, scriptrixlatinae, swimmingfrug, and zephyrfox.
> 
> And special thanks to CariZee, who's waited patiently for this. I promise, your prompt will be filled, in the end!

“Why are you still here?” Alec asked, tossing his suit jacket in the direction of the coat rack by the door. He missed, but he didn’t care. He hated suits. Putting field agents in suits was like putting cats in dinner jackets, unless the field agent in question was the one who should’ve gone home at least three hours ago.

Even in the privacy of their shared office, James was wearing not just his full suit but his tie as well. Still done up, in fact. His chair creaked as he turned enough to give Alec a bleak look. “Mallory and his bloody paperwork.”

“Sod the paperwork. Burn it,” Alec suggested. He pulled his own chair from his desk to James’ and sat down. The privacy screen on the monitor made it difficult to read except right over James’ shoulder. “Silva? Silva’s been dead three months.”

“And I’ve got another _six_ months of review committees and after action report revisions and God-knows-what left before I’m cleared to return to field work,” James said, shoving the keyboard away. “Tell me again why I don’t just quit?”

“Because only one of us has a decent retirement savings account, and it’s _not_ you.”

“Because you _stole_ my retirement account by forging my signature and clearing out my safety deposit box.”

Alec shrugged. “You were dead at the time. And really, James, a child could forge your signature.”

James rolled his eyes in a show of irritation that didn’t fool Alec. Not after spending the last two decades practically attached at the hip. “How’d you get that much gold out of the bank in one bag?”

Alec smirked. “Who says I got it out of the bank? Banks exist for safekeeping that sort of thing.”

“Good. In that case, I’ll just go back there and reclaim it.”

With a theatrical sigh, Alec said, “I’m not a bloody idiot, James. Gold bars are too supervillain for my taste. I converted it to bearer bonds and a couple of strategic investment accounts. Better return than gold, these days.”

“Why haven’t I shot you yet?”

“Because then you’d be stuck going out to drinks with Tanner, and he’s boring.”

“He’s not _that_ boring.”

“He’s married, straight, and an executive. Three strikes rule.”

“You’re confusing American law with co-worker socialising again.”

Alec grinned. “You’re the one who wanted to shoot me. That’s against _our_ laws. And it’s a building code violation, I think.”

“Yes, I’m terrified of getting a strongly worded note from the custodial staff,” James said dryly.

“But there’s an idea,” Alec said, already bored with James’ paperwork. “Let’s go to the range. Shoot something other than ourselves.”

It took James all of two seconds to shove the keyboard away another inch. “Anything’s better than this bloody report.”

“See? I’ve helped. For that, you can buy me dinner afterwards.”

“If you want to ‘help,’ you can go steal the access codes from Q Branch. Last I heard from 009, they’ve changed the locks on us. Something about wasting ammunition.”

“Bloody bureaucrats,” Alec said, getting to his feet a heartbeat before James pushed his chair into Alec’s, sending it flying across the cramped little office.

“Firearms training is a critical part of our job, but that doesn’t mean we’re actually going to _document_ range time.” James didn’t have to roll his eyes. If there was one thing that field agents were bad at, it was paperwork.

Alec’s laugh was interrupted by the buzz of his work mobile. “No. Whatever they want...” he muttered as he took the phone from his trousers pocket.

As he was unlocking his phone, James’ gave out a matching buzz. One field agent getting an evening text on a secure number was bad enough; two meant that someone had bombed an entire allied nation off the map.

_Report to my office for new tasking. Don’t bother pretending you’re not in the building._

“Tanner?” Alec asked after reading the text.

James sighed. “Tanner. Probably heard your crack about him being boring.”

“I wasn’t _lying_ ,” Alec pointed out as he headed for the door. “He _is_ married, I’m fairly sure he’s straight, and only an executive would be this much of a pain in the arse after work hours. That adds up to boring.”

“Yes, but we’re not supposed to say that sort of thing out loud. And here.”

Alec turned back in time to get a faceful of jacket. He caught it before it fell and glared. “I don’t dress for boring.”

“No, but you dress for the man who decides if we get the good missions or the bodyguard-the-scientist-in-the-Antarctic ones.”

Sighing, Alec pulled on the jacket. “Why don’t _I_ quit?”

“Because it’d take you a week and a half before boredom turned you into the world’s most trigger-happy mercenary, and then I’d be sent to hunt you down.”

“You could come with me,” Alec suggested.

James grinned. “Let’s keep that as plan B if we don’t like Tanner’s mission.”

 

~~~

 

“Ah, good. Q. Right on time,” Tanner said, giving Q a mild, friendly smile that Q didn’t trust as far as he could throw the man. After all, Tanner hadn’t made it to the highest echelons of the British Secret Service by being _nice_.

“Tanner,” Q greeted him with a slow, respectful nod. He set his tablet on the end of Tanner’s desk and ignored the chairs pulled up to it. He preferred to stand. “Have you finally decided to give me the agents I requested?”

“M’s approved the transfer of two agents to the _other_ division,” Tanner said, giving Q a brief smile. Then he turned away, heading for the small bar in the corner, and asked, “Something to drink?”

“No, thank you. And you know how I feel about calling that division the _other,_ since it was my first.” Q smiled mildly and pushed his glasses up his nose with one knuckle.

Tanner laughed softly. “Yes, well, we can’t go chatting about it — though I have enacted basic secure protocols. We’ll lock down the office once they’ve arrived, assuming they don’t end up escorted up here by Security.”

The corners of Q’s mouth turned down as to hide his amusement. “I hardly think 003 and 008 are likely to skip out on a meeting. They’re our most reliable agents.”

“Ah. Yes,” Tanner said with a smile that was meant to be cheerful, though Q didn’t fall for it. “I’m afraid we’ve had to change up the roster a bit, due to experience and availability.”

Q frowned. He didn’t like last minute changes. They inevitably wreaked havoc with his organisation. But playing nice with the other divisions meant less work — and interference — later on. “Well, as long as I’ll have seasoned veterans. We discussed the demands of the job and how I wouldn’t abide green recruits in matters that need such heavy security.”

“Mallory and I are in complete agreement with you on that point.” Tanner poured himself a brandy, then turned back to face Q, still smiling. “Believe me, we understand the serious nature of the threats your department faces.”

“Thank you. It’s been a struggle. But I do believe having in-house agents is integral to the success of the department going forward.” Q had won this battle with the budgetary committee weeks ago, under the guise of an MI6 in-house project, but given how long it had taken for the wheels to start turning for him to actually get his agents, he felt it necessary to make his position clear.

Tanner settled down at his desk, drink in hand. “Absolutely. No more farming things out to amateurs, no matter how talented. There’ll be a bit of a learning curve, but we’re certain that you can bring them up to speed —” He cut off, eyes tracking movement behind Q’s back, at the door, and his smile became a bit wooden. With his free hand, he beckoned, saying, “Ah. Here they are.”

Q turned, anticipating... Well, he wasn’t sure which agents, since 003 and 008 were off the table. Perhaps 0015 and 0016, he’d idly thought. They’d been hired together and had worked dual-missions for the last three years. Consummate professionals, not likely to run screaming into the night when certain truths were revealed. And, most importantly, young enough to adapt.

But to his horror, the two most problematic agents walked in: James Bond and his partner-in-crime, Alec Trevelyan. They were nearing retirement age — still young by any standards other than MI6’s — and had a string of human resource violations, notes from personnel, and official reprimands that was barely balanced out by their commendations. The Queen, in one of her sillier moments, had even granted Bond the Order of St Michael and St George.

The two of them, looking scruffier than a pair of shifters on the run, scanned the room for threats, then gave Q equally predatory grins. Q had stared down the very worst forces in the universe, but there was still something... _unnerving_ about 006 and 007.

Tanner coughed as if to call the meeting to order, but social niceties were entirely lost on this particular pair of agents. Without saying a word, Trevelyan went right for the bar, though he didn’t turn away from Q until the last moment.

Bond was hardly more polite. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” he drawled as he sauntered to the chair closest to where Q was standing. He sat, unbuttoning his jacket, and let his gaze crawl slowly up Q’s body. “What brings you out of your cave, Quartermaster?”

Q gave him a flat stare, then pointedly turned to Tanner with a barely disguised you-must-be-joking look. “At the moment, I’m not certain. Tanner? A word?” He turned on his heel and headed for the door, ignoring Tanner’s brief protest.

Moneypenny had long since gone home, giving them relative privacy. Tanner shot a worried look at his office door as it swung closed, leaving the two problem agents alone with an open bar. “Q, I understand —”

“Absolutely not. Not those two. Are you out of your mind?” Q hissed at Tanner in an overly loud stage whisper. “This job requires _discipline,_ Tanner. Those two are the opposite of exemplary at, well, _anything_ apart from disregarding the rules. How do you expect me to command them?” He could feel the heat climbing his neck as he became more agitated.

Tanner put up his hands. “I know at first glance this seems an odd choice,” he said in a soothing tone, which only managed to agitate Q further.

“ _Odd?_ Bill, those two are trouble incarnate — able to cause more chaos than our adversaries. How do you expect them to _help..._ ” For a second, he was able to see the twisted logic of it. Then he came to his senses and shook his head fervently. “No, it’s a horrid choice, and you know it.”

“Putting aside their combined decades of experience, their psychological evaluations make it clear that they’re the best candidates. The next best agent is over fifteen per cent more likely to suffer a complete break on the very first mission.”

“ _Those two_ are psychologically fit for... Oh, bugger.” Q took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Pardon, but _honestly._ ” He sighed and put his glasses back on, then stared at Tanner with a long-suffering look. This entire project had just become approximately nine times more difficult, and both of them knew it.

“I understand your reservations, but just... consider for a moment. If anyone could stand strong in the face of... well, the threats your division handles, it’s those two.” Tanner put on his most reassuring smile and gestured back towards the glass door to his office —

Where Q’s new problem agents were handling _his_ tablet. “It _is_ convenient that they have very little regard for their safety, because I’m about to...” He marched back in and snatched the tablet from Bond’s hands, then cradled it against his chest as he glared coldly at them both. “Have you any idea why you’re here?”

Unfazed by Q’s expression, Bond smiled. “Drinks before dinner?”

“You didn’t need to have Tanner ask us on your behalf,” Trevelyan added, leaning against the desk to look past Bond and meet Q’s eyes. “We rarely say no.”

Bond sighed and looked back. “That’s hardly a selling point.”

“I was trying to give him a bit of confidence,” Trevelyan said.

“You failed.”

“But points for trying.”

“Gentlemen,” Q interrupted, exasperated. “Kindly shut it. We have work to do. Tanner, do something with them before I —”

“Do something _else_ with us?” Trevelyan interrupted slyly.

Snickering, Bond added, “We can make a list, if you’d like.”

“Yes. Well, I trust you have this in hand, Q?” Tanner asked, hovering in the doorway like a deer about to bolt.

“Don’t you dare. They’re half-wild and probably half-drunk. I will not be made to explain the nature of this work by myself.” Q stilled completely, giving off the illusion of calm and composure — command, even — though his insides jumped at the prospect of briefing his agents on their new assignment. _His_ agents. He’d needed some for _so_ long. What a dreadful twist of fate that he was handed the last two who would ever let him mentor them.

“Q Branch is giving out Double O missions now?” Bond asked sceptically.

“This isn’t —” Tanner took a deep breath. “The Quartermaster will explain everything once you’re settled into your new office.” Then he shot Q a wary look, adding, “You _have_ an office for them? One that’s secure?”

“Of course. Standard rowan and holly treatment.” Q was distracted by looking down at his tablet and seeing that it was past the login screen. How the bloody hell had they figured out his password? Or, more likely, bypassed it. “Tanner, this really is your jurisdiction — re-assigning field agents and all...” He perched on the edge of the desk to look more closely at the tablet, giving the other three only minimal attention. They hadn’t bypassed his security. They’d actually _logged in_ , using his proper credentials.

“Q...” The title came out as a soft purr, right in Q’s ear, and he flinched despite himself. For someone so bloody tall and broad, Trevelyan moved more silently than a ghost. “Obviously Tanner wants to go home and watch telly or something. Why don’t we go talk somewhere more private?”

“Brilliant plan,” Bond said, moving to Q’s other side, bracketing him between them. “Say hello to your wife for us, Tanner.”

Q side-eyed each of his agents, then looked over at Tanner. He was lurking in the doorway with his standard my-hands-are-tied look: the one that on a good day had Q fuming. This was unacceptable. And Tanner knew it. He’d be lucky if Q didn’t bring up his desertion with Mallory tomorrow.

Q glared a this-is-far-from-over look at Tanner and raised his chin an inch to free him. Then he stood up and walked a safe eight feet from his agents before addressing them. “Fine. Follow me, agents. I’ll show you your new office, and then I have a lot to tell you.”

Naturally, they didn’t put down their glasses without emptying them first — nor did they use coasters. And when they crossed the office to join Q at the doorway, they stalked like vaguely interested predators just waiting for something to run so they could give chase. Q had the ridiculous impulse to let _something_ free for them to catch, just to see firsthand how they worked together to take it down.

Not yet. Not until they’d acclimated to their new environment. For all he knew, they’d have adverse reactions to the conditions, despite what the psych assessments claimed.


	2. Chapter 2

As James, Alec, and Q got into the lift, suspicion prickled along James’ nerves, though he didn’t let a hint of it show in his expression or body language. Neither did Alec, though James knew they were both thinking the same thing.

 _New office_. That stuck out more than anything else. The Double O’s didn’t need full offices because they spent most of their time in the field. _New office_ implied a transfer out of the Double O Programme, and James would sooner quit and go freelance than be put on a shelf.

But there were other enigmas, ones he was damned certain they would’ve cracked, if only Q hadn’t snatched away his tablet right after they’d figured out which of his rumoured passwords was actually correct. Enigmas like “rowan” and “holly.” Code words, certainly, but for what?

Code words tended to be issued in related clumps. Codeword Rowan and Codeword Holly were obviously variants on a theme. Weapons, perhaps?

There was an appealing thought. Perhaps this was a long-term deep cover operation to finally crack the bloody underground arms market. James and Alec had been bitching for _years_ that someone needed to rein in the independents who were looking to make a fortune. Guns sold well, but the market was saturated. _Everyone_ had more AK-47s than necessary. No, the real money was in bioweapons. Small, easily smuggled...

He exchanged a look with Alec, who shrugged, not particularly concerned. Of course, Alec had joined MI6 because James had — not out of any particular loyalty or desire to serve the Crown’s interests. James could’ve gone freelance ten years ago, and Alec would’ve been right there with him.

“We’re not being exiled to the basement, are we?” James asked suspiciously as Q pressed the button for the lowest secure level, reminiscent of the post-Silva weeks before MI6 could rebuild its infrastructure. He had to insert and turn a key, in fact, to authorise the lift’s destination.

“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if we were,” Alec pointed out. “And it’d be a shorter walk from our assigned parking.”

“Exiled is not the right term. You’re being _initiated._ ” Q turned to the Double O’s and crossed his arms. “There’s one more division of Her Majesty’s Secret Service than is commonly known. You are about to join it.”

James glanced over and met Alec’s eyes. Before James could find the right response, Alec spoke up. “If this is some mad scheme to get us to finish our paperwork, James was actually _doing_ it when you interrupted.”

“And it’s not even due until week’s end,” James added, turning his grin on Q. The Quartermaster, for all his bluster and exasperation, didn’t seem to be as immune to charm as he was rather adorably pretending.

“ _Division,_ not some minor department for shuffling paper. MI5, MI6... MI13.” Q’s expression was carefully neutral.

A wave of disappointment caught James by surprise. “Hazing, Q? After all these months?” he asked, trying and failing to summon up a cheerful retort. MI12 was still hanging about, and contrary to popular knowledge MI14 had been shut down only a few years ago, but MI13 was the stuff of bad comic books.

Q barely deigned to give James a withering look. “No. This is deadly serious, and if you two don’t treat it as such, I’m going to make your lives very difficult for the next little while.”

“MI13,” Alec said flatly. “All right, then. What’s MI13?”

“What do you think?” Q’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Alec and leaned back against the wall.

Tanner’s mid-grade vodka didn’t go far enough in relaxing James enough to put up with these sorts of games. Much as he appreciated the rescue from paperwork, he’d rather be out somewhere interesting — or at home, _doing_ something interesting — than stuck in a lift with Alec and an irate executive.

“I’ve been doing paperwork all bloody day, it’s well past closing time, and my lunch, at least, was a half-stale sandwich from the Pret across the street,” James snapped over whatever Alec had been about to say. “Or is MI13 a new steakhouse _not_ run by the canteen staff? That would probably be acceptable.”

“If you want to go home and do this tomorrow, be my guest. _I_ didn’t ask for you two problem children. I need _proper_ agents who care about their work and don’t cut corners.” Q turned from them towards the lift doors and watched the floor display count down.

Well. _That_ was unexpected. Q actually seemed offended. Was this _not_ hazing? Did MI13 actually exist? Things had been admittedly odd since the new Quartermaster had taken over from Major Boothroyd — in part because Q, whoever he was, didn’t even seem to have a name. And nobody could lock down their backstory thoroughly enough to keep James and Alec from prising out all their dirty secrets. Nobody except Q.

Alec caught James’ eye, one brow raised questioningly. Feeling a touch guilty for snapping, James said, “We’re here, wherever _here_ ends up being. What’s MI13?”

“The supernatural division, of course.” The doors opened, and Q led them into the old maze of storerooms beneath the underground car park. He headed not towards the centre of the level but towards the north side, closest to the Thames.

Alec let out an uncertain laugh. “Supernatural division? What, like ghosts and zombies?”

“Or we’re back to the hazing,” James muttered, feeling much less high-spirited. Alec had just closed a mission, unlike James, who hadn’t been in the field since the Silva fiasco. He was ready to start clawing the walls if he didn’t get back out soon.

Pointedly ignoring James, Q stopped at the wall, looked at Alec, and said, with utter seriousness, “And demons and vampires and gremlins and a plethora of witches and warlocks of varying strengths, and affiliations.”

After Q’s speech died out, silence reigned. Despite the sketchy light, James could see the Quartermaster’s face clearly, and there wasn’t a hint that he was teasing, kidding, or possibly mad. The Quartermaster — quiet, competent, fashion-challenged Q — was actually serious about what he was saying.

“Supernatural division,” James repeated.

Alec huffed. “I like my idea better.”

James shot him a curious look. “What was your idea?”

“Swingers club for the not-boring execs.”

“There’s a thought,” James said, turning back to Q.

“That’s on alternate Thursdays after midnight in the canteen,” Q deadpanned too woodenly to be natural. He was a lousy liar — not that either of the Double O’s could let the opportunity pass.

“It’s a date,” James said, his flirtatious smile snapping back to life. Alec went a step further and took out his mobile, which he opened to the calendar.

Q rolled his eyes and huffed, but James could tell he was at least half-amused. _“Aperi,”_ he said, pressing one finger to the wall.

James drew breath to speak, but then the wall shimmered with a pale glow that spread from Q’s fingertip, resting on the cement, out in a circle of crawling lightning. It stopped when it had gone a metre in all directions, then flashed so brightly that James closed his eyes and turned away. When he turned back, he saw a perfectly circular entrance cut in the wall — one that went not into the Thames but into a security checkpoint, complete with a reinforced glass window on the far wall.

“Alohomora,” Alec said.

James blinked at him. “What?”

“Alohomora. That’s what that girl says to” — he gestured at the hole in the wall — “open doors and things.”

“That’s... Harry Potter, isn’t it?” James asked, wondering if things were surreal for everyone or just for him.

“This is _not_ a children’s book. Ms Rowling clearly had only a vague understanding of the other side. You’ll not see anything like Diagon Alley in here.” Q stepped over the lip of the circular opening, then beckoned them to follow.

“That theme park’s opened up, you know,” Alec said, pushing ahead of James. “We need to be sent on more missions to Orlando.”

“We’re not supposed to hunt our allies,” James said dryly, stopping at the edge of the opening. He wanted to follow — he _would_ follow, in just a moment — but something inside him was shrieking a warning, and he’d learned to listen to his instincts.

The room beyond had been constructed to the same template as the Secure Prisoner Exchange room upstairs, on the primary level of the underground car park. One entrance, confined quarters beyond, with a secure viewing booth for guards who, in this case, weren’t present. The guards in the booth would have access to hidden weapons, most likely behind false panels in the side walls.

Of course, the SPE room didn’t have an intricate metal inlay set into the floor, a circle full of curved writing reminiscent of Tolkien’s Elvish script, complete with five- and six-pointed stars nested in the centre, all done in gold, silver, and a black metal that looked like wrought iron. At least, if it did, James had never noticed it. Granted, he rarely brought prisoners back alive, and every bloody time, he regretted it.

“What about a team-building exercise?” Alec was saying, utterly nonchalant about all of this. “It’d be good for us if we all went to Disney World or something. Then we could stop by the Harry Potter thing on the way back.”

“This is better, Trevelyan. Or at least more real.” Q was standing in the centre of the circle, beckoning to them. “You don’t need an invitation, 007. It’s safe. Safest place in London, in fact.”

James’ smile wasn’t quite as casual as it should have been, but only Alec knew him well enough to read the tension underneath. Braced as if expecting a static shock, James stepped into the room, automatically searching the back wall and hidden corners.

No cameras. And the only possible weapons were two sprinklers in the ceiling.

 _“Operi.”_ Q said, taking off his glasses. He tucked them under his tablet, which he turned face-down in his hands.

“What —” James started as the hole behind them simply vanished as if it had never existed. Then the sprinklers hissed, and a light cloud of fog began to descend.

 _Poison!_ James spun, checking all four walls for any exit he might have missed before. Three walls were now featureless; the fourth only had the reinforced glass window. As Alec grabbed Q and pushed down, covering Q with a fold of the jacket he hadn’t wanted to wear, James drew his gun. His finger was pressing the trigger before he’d brought it all the way up, and he put two perfect shots through the window, one above the other. The first gave them hope of getting clean air to breathe; the second offered the promise of escape as the glass fractured.

Q’s shouting from under the jacket finally got through James’ consciousness, and he heard, “Stop! For all the gods' sakes, Bond! It’s _safe!_ Trust me when I tell you things. It’s a mist of salt water and colloidal silver.” He’d extricated himself from Alec’s jacket, leaving Alec looking like a bird whose chick had just abandoned its nest.

“Salt and silver,” James said, forcing his finger off the trigger.

Alec squinted up at the sprinklers, which had apparently been programmed to die out after their near-lethal burst. “You did notice that all the doors are gone,” he finally said, looking back at Q.

“Why don’t you tell us what to expect _before_ it happens?” James suggested as he holstered his gun.

“I _told_ you it was safe. Now I’m going to have to replace the window. That’s not ordinary glass, you know.” Q glared for only another moment before he sighed and put his glasses back on. “Now, if everyone feels secure enough to continue...”

“What happens next?” James asked warily.

“Oh, be nice,” Alec scolded, swiping a hand across Q’s hair, which was sticking up as if he’d been hit with a charge of static electricity, thanks to the wool jacket. When Q glared at him, he just grinned and said, “I’m _helping_.”

Q took a step to the side and muttered, “Help from a bloody _distance._ ” He pushed his hair back — which really didn’t help — and turned to James. “I’m going to open another doorway next to the window that’s coming out of your salary. Then we’ll walk past the Threat Containment and Research Facility to the field agents’ office that’s been vacant for the last several decades, as far as I’m aware. The inner rooms in MI13, including your office, are all protected with various enchantments, including rowan flooring and holly trim on the walls to disrupt harmful spells, so you’ll be perfectly safe. And because of that, you two will lock your guns away before you shoot any other vital parts of the facility, and I’ll get a damned cup of tea. And only _then_ will I explain the details of your new assignment.”

Alec shot a look at James. “Threat containment.”

“And research,” James added, turning to Q. “You’re not thinking of locking _us_ up there, are you? Because no matter how odd this all is, it would most likely end badly.”

“Most likely, my arse,” Alec said cheerfully. “Besides, he wouldn’t do that to us. Or to me. I was protecting him, while you went all cowboy on the window.”

“Cowboy?” James asked. _“Cowboy?”_

“Gunslinger? Is that a better word?”

“Boys, please.” Q’s seriousness was undermined by the slight crinkle around his eyes. So he _did_ like them after all. That was something, at least. “As feral as you two seem, I’m fairly certain I won’t need those sorts of precautions to keep you under control.”

James huffed. “Alec bites.”

“I do,” Alec admitted gravely. “Go on, James. Show him the scars.”

“I believe you. There’s no need to undress.” Q turned away from both of them and went to the wall next to the destroyed window.

“How’d you know it’s under his clothes?” Alec asked curiously, following Q. “I could’ve bitten his hand.”

Q touched the wall and said, as he had earlier, _“Aperi.”_ Then, as another ring of lightning crawled out from his fingertip, he gave Alec a look and replied, “You wouldn’t have wanted him to show me if it weren’t somewhere interesting.”

Alec blinked, then looked at James, who shrugged and said, “He’s got a point.”

“Fine,” Alec said with a resigned sigh. “Where’s our office? I assume we don’t get a bloody window. We had —”

“That’s it,” James interrupted sharply, glancing up at the ceiling. “This part of the building _isn’t here_. We’re in the bloody Thames.”

“Well done, Bond.” Q didn’t look at him, but the approval in his voice was apparent. “Moving water is a good protection from many evils. I meant it when I said we were in the safest place in London. And that’s before counting all the protections. This way.” He headed down the hallway that had opened before them as if certain they’d follow. Of course, they had no alternative, unless they wanted to sit in the antechamber and wait for the door to disappear.

Still, James went to look through the broken window, rather than following immediately. The guard booth had a high stool and a small shelf acting as a desk. There was nothing else in the room — including a door. He narrowed his eyes at the sight. If Q thought he was going to lock either of them in there to play at providing office security, he had another thing coming.

More wary now, he followed Alec through the round doorway and into a wide hallway that could’ve been plucked from MI6 thirty years ago, complete with cheap lino flooring and industrial pea green tiles on the wall. The overhead fluorescent lights were recessed into the ceiling behind yellowing plastic panes that gave the hallway a sickly glow.

A pair of metal fire doors to the right presumably led to the Threat Containment and Research Area. James was tempted to try them, but he suspected that wouldn’t be wise. Earlier that day, James would’ve been thinking in terms of electrical traps; now, he had no idea what to expect, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to find out.

They passed another half-dozen unmarked single doors before reaching the end of the hall. The double doors there were wood, not plain steel, and when Q pushed them open, James saw bright, welcoming candlelight glowing on dark wood and brickwork. Finally, an escape from that hallway out of nightmares.

“Your decorator needs to be shot for that hallway,” James said as he hurried into a comfortable reading room of sorts, with armchairs and small tables. It was warmly civilised, soothing his strained nerves. There were bookshelves on the walls — and what looked like a wine rack, stuffed with rolled-up scrolls. So it wasn’t _entirely_ normal, but James could overlook that for now.

At the back of the room, another set of wooden double doors, these with glass windows, let into a massive office where James could see row upon row of monitors mounted to the back wall. It looked very much like Q’s headquarters upstairs, in MI6 proper. Other doors let into another office with an empty feel — presumably James and Alec’s — and a break room that hearkened back to the big budget days of the Cold War, complete with a kitchenette with actual cupboards and real furniture instead of plastic chairs and flat-pack tables.

Q stopped in front of the doors to the back and faced them as if standing in front of a classroom. “This is your new home, at least for as much time as I can coax MI6 to lend you to me.” He gestured to the doors at his right as he continued. “I’ll let you get settled into your office in a moment, but first, I’ll be happy to answer any questions you may have. Take a seat, if you like.”

“Do we get wands?” Alec asked.

James rolled his eyes. “Alec —”

“They gave us guns. Q gives us explosives. A wand’s just a stick by comparison. Right?”

Q scoffed. “One that can do inconceivably more damage than either of those. I will _not_ have wands crafted for you two. Not before you’ve learned most of what can be gleaned from these volumes here, and committed to memory all of the general categories of our adversaries.”

“Can I have a familiar?” Alec asked, giving Q his most charming smile.

James couldn’t hide a laugh. “It’s an excuse to stick _me_ with walking-the-dog duties when he’s in the field.”

Q’s mouth curved down, but only in an effort to keep from smiling. “Gaining a familiar takes much more work than you’ll want to do, believe me.” He turned away from Alec and looked at James. “Bond? Anything you want to know? Speak up.”

“Are you sending us in the field after” — James stumbled over his words for an instant — “whatever’s out there, or do you expect to turn us into researchers?”

“Absolutely not. I’d have more luck turning you into squirrels.”

“Then we just need to know two things,” James said, satisfied. “How to find them and how to kill them.”


	3. Chapter 3

“ _Those_ are our new field agents?” The voice came out of nowhere, as soon as the doors to his monitoring centre were closed. Female, refined, with a British accent that was somewhat hard to pin down. “They look a bit disreputable, don’t they?”

“That’s the general trend, ma’am. Especially in Double O’s.” Q couldn’t help but smirk as he glanced through the windows. Bond and Trevelyan were bent over a couple massive tomes laid out on the table in the reading room.

“Lax standards,” Danielle Marsh complained as she manifested beside Q. She was a tall, austere woman, dressed today in a smart black dress suit with a red scarf tucked under the lapels. “You should take matters in hand, Quartermaster. Expect professionalism.”

Danielle Marsh, former Director of MI13, had been dead since shortly after the Second World War. In her day, MI13 had been a bustling hive of activity. Apparently, Hitler’s occult researchers had come dangerously close to winning the war. Only Allied programmes — MI13, America’s OSI, and so on — had managed to hold back his sorcerers long enough for conventional forces to claim victory.

Their triumph guaranteed years of funding, but now the river had dried to a trickle. As the computer age made secrets more difficult to keep, MI13 was downsized into what it was today: one Quartermaster who was better with computers than with spells, a ghostly advisor, and now, after too many budgetary battles, two intractable field agents nearing the end of their career.

The problem, Q thought as he looked out the window at them, was that they might well _actually_ be the best choice out of all the Double O’s. Aside from their one moment of panic when faced with what must have seemed a viable threat, they had taken everything in stride, and admirably quickly, at that. Q wasn’t sure if he should be impressed by that or worried.

At least he hadn’t been dealing with claims that he was insane all evening. Once Bond got over his hazing idea and put away his gun, he’d adapted well. And Trevelyan — well, nothing fazed him. Not as long as he could still joke suggestively about something.

They were going to be a handful — that much was clear. But they were Q’s handful at the moment, and that helped him breathe easier. There was so much to do, once they were sufficiently briefed.

“I’ll do with them what I can, Danielle, but don’t hold your breath for any sort of professionalism.”

Danielle’s laugh was, well, ghostly — not ominous and sepulchral, but breathy and soft. “At least _I_ don’t have to oversee them,” she said as her manifestation flickered for a moment. “It’s good to have someone else down here, though. You spend too much time with your computers and scrying.”

“What else am I meant to do? One must keep an eye on the threats, in order to eliminate them.” Danielle’s mothering rankled Q somewhat, but only because he’d been thinking the same thing. The place felt less like a tomb with other warm bodies in it.

“I suppose... But for one man to have to watch the entire _world_ — and yes, I know your computers do analysis and filtering, but really.” She huffed and shook her head, frosted blonde curls bouncing at her shoulders. “It’s too much. Maybe once these two prove effective, you can push for more assistants.”

 _Minions._ In the “dungeon,” as M had affectionately called MI13. Q couldn’t dare to dream. “As long as I have you, what more could I ask for?” He looked over at her affectionately. They had worked well together the past few years — not that she thought one ghost and one Quartermaster were sufficient.

“A proper secretary, two para-xenobiologists, six research assistants, a full complement of round-the-clock security containment specialists, four field analysts, two battle-trained sorcerers, a scryer or trained oracle... Need I go on?” she asked archly. Then she smiled and reached out to brush one hand through his hair. It felt like cool sparks crawling over his scalp. “Oh, and a proper barber.”

“That’s Cold War thinking, and you know it. Even MI6 isn’t that well-staffed these days.” Just last month, Q had opted for one last push for MI13 personnel instead of a couple more analysts in Q Branch. It was only because he had a few workaholics on staff already that he felt able to risk it.

“And look what happens! An agent goes rogue and blows up headquarters,” she said, shaking her head. “In our day, we shot traitors. Whoever brought him back alive should be sacked.”

“Would you like to tell him so yourself? He’s right there.” Q nodded out the door as he continued, “But just remember, he was following orders.”

Her eyes narrowed, and her form flickered as she turned to stare at James. “I’d —” she began, then vanished from sight as James and Alec, unprompted, both turned to look back at Q, as if aware that he was discussing them.

Or as if they’d felt Danielle’s attention... No, that couldn’t be. Their evaluations didn’t have anything as advanced as paranormal sensitivity, did they? Q looked down at his tablet and vowed to review Boothroyd’s MI6/MI13 intake evaluations as soon as he had a moment.

Only when they turned back to their books did Danielle reappear, eyeing them suspiciously. “Hmm. I’d be very, very careful with the orders you give those two. They look like trouble.”

Q huffed. “Believe me, I’ve learned to be as exact as humanly possible on their topside missions.”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “I take it that it doesn’t help?”

“Only to a point. Individually, they’re each a handful. Together, they’ll be a menace.” Q grinned at her for just a second before he affected nonchalance. “But down here I have much more leeway in how I address insubordination.”

“Good.” She straightened up and gave Q an approving nod. “Start as you plan to continue. Go out there and give them direction. And tell the bigger one to put on a bloody tie. This is an office, not a pub.”

“Not certain he owns one,” Q muttered as he headed out into the reading room to finally live up to the title of _Director_ of MI13.

 

~~~

 

The bookshelves contained ninety percent mythologies and fanciful tales and ten percent mission reports, which captured Alec’s and James’ attention, at least for now. Alec was going to spend the next two months reading everything else in the room, but only once he had an actual idea of what they were up against.

“So when did it change?” he asked, looking from the book he was reading — one of two that were labelled 1953 — to the one James had, which spanned 2005-2008. Alec’s ledger had a hand-written, hard-to-read report of a field agent and two local guides battling something that Alec wasn’t ready to pronounce, while James’ was little more than a list of typed monsters, geographical coordinates, and identification numbers. It wasn’t hard to guess that they were threats, locations, and agents assigned to neutralise those threats. But who were these other agents?

James shook his head, looking at the bookshelf of ledgers. “More to the point, _why_?” he muttered.

Alec leaned over and tapped the ID numbers. “And where’s the key to this?”

With another shake of his head, James flipped to the front and back of the ledger, where one could expect to find a table or key of some kind. “Not here. But these _aren’t_ Double O’s or field agents. Wrong format.”

And that was the problem. Between the Royal Navy, Chicksands, and MI6, there wasn’t a government cipher that James and Alec couldn’t crack, given time. They recognised everything from military inventory categories for foodstuffs to accounting designations for contracted mercenaries on sight — except for this one.

Alec was tempted to think that he, James, and Q were the _only_ employees of MI13, but he wasn’t ready to make that admission. Not until he was sure there were no hidden doors, portals into pocket dimensions, or sliding corridors concealing other offices.

The soft creak of Q’s office door interrupted his racing thoughts. He looked back, instantly noting that the Quartermaster had been mucking with his hair. It was standing on end even more vigorously than usual, and Alec itched to pet it back down into place. Why did he have to be so bloody scruffy and adorable? He was an executive. By definition, that should’ve made him unappealing.

“Getting caught up on paperwork, I see?” Q’s tone was neutral but his eyes twinkled slightly. He was hugging his tablet to his chest as if it were a teddy.

Bloody adorable.

“Wondering who your current field agents are, actually,” Alec said, forcing his mind back to business. All this MI13 nonsense was too... _odd_ to be in the hands of amateurs.

“Ah. Before you, the work was mostly outsourced.” Q looked down at his tablet, then looked back up at them. “But for security purposes, I was recently able to convince those holding the purse strings that it was worthwhile to have our own agents handling things down here.”

That explained the shift in paperwork. Not that James or Alec would be doing the sort of hand-written, detailed accounts found in the ledger from the fifties. In fact, if they were the first in-house agents in what seemed like years, this was a fine time to ensure that extraneous nonsense — such as paperwork — was kept to a minimum. Preferably with fire.

“Is there a current mission we should be aware of?” James asked as Alec abandoned the ledger and went to look at the rest of the books. He’d spent three months on the most boring stakeout he’d ever imagined, and he’d practically memorised the Harry Potter novels. Something in here had to be equally entertaining.

“Nothing active. There are quite a few threats under surveillance, but nothing I need to send you out after at the moment.” Q’s voice approached Alec’s back as if monitoring his exploration of the shelves.

“Do you have a...” James trailed off with a frustrated huff. “Is this the _entire_ division?”

“Well, yes. Well... such as it is, now.” Q rarely sounded so uncertain, but he recovered quickly. “Times have been lean, but technological advances in the last twenty years make it so that I can accomplish much on my own.”

There was more to that to tease out, but that could wait until Q was less tense and skittish. The fact that he didn’t want them here didn’t help. Instead, Alec gave Q the charming, devil-may-care smile that discomfited executives and distracted them from whatever point they were trying to make. “So, no paper-pushers to stalk us at all hours of the day and come up with excuses for us to not do our bloody jobs.”

“No, but accurate documentation is a necessity, 006. And part —”

“001,” Alec corrected smoothly. “Or 13-0-1, but that’s cumbersome.”

Q huffed. “No, that’s not how it —”

“001?” James interrupted. “And what am I supposed to be? Double O-Zero?”

Alec grinned. “002.”

“I have seniority.”

“Not here. I walked in first.”

“That’s not _seniority_ —”

“And I’m better looking. Aren’t I?” Alec unleashed his smile at Q again. Q merely blinked at him, opening his mouth for barely a moment before he closed it again.

“What on _earth_ makes you say that?” James demanded.

“You were dead for three months. Z for zombie. Look it up. _I’ve_ only been dead for a few days at most.” Alec took a step closer to Q and lowered his voice, asking, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“In terms of timespan, yes. In terms of looks...” Q’s eyes darted to James just before he was interrupted.

“See? Despite the appalling evidence, the Quartermaster has good taste,” James said dryly.

“Or he’s still dizzy from the fumes in the other room,” Alec countered.

“He was under _your_ jacket.”

“Gunpowder, you arse. You’re the one who shot the window. Twice.”

“Enough,” Q insisted. “I need a bloody whistle for you two. Stop bickering. You’re both —”

“Brilliant?” James suggested.

“Gorgeous,” Alec countered.

Q sighed. “Appalling. And we’re completely off track.” He nudged his glasses up his face and blinked. “Trevelyan, take down that red leather volume near your shoulder.”

“You’ll grow to adore us,” Alec predicted, turning to find the right book. It was at the top shelf, first book on the left, which didn’t bode well for their future. Was Q going to expect them to read their way through the entire bookcase before they could get out in the field?

James came up to Alec’s other side, looking over his shoulder at the title. _“Unclassifiable Threat Countermeasures,”_ James read. “Everything’s classifiable.”

“If you cut it into small enough pieces,” Alec pointed out.

Q stepped over to the door that led to the breakroom. “Bring it in here. Time to learn some new moves.” He held the door open for them and added, “Besides, I need some tea.”

Alec glanced at James, who was frowning. “Cheer up, mate,” Alec told him. “There’s probably coffee. If not, maybe Q has a vampire you can shoot.”

James raised an eyebrow. “How would _that_ help?”

“Have you ever shot a vampire?”

“Not that I know of.”

“There, see? New experience. That’ll keep you awake, at least until we can get to a Starbucks or something.”

James snatched the book out of Alec’s hands. “Q, we’ll need proper coffee,” he said as he went right for the breakroom. “ _Not_ Starbucks.”

Alec shrugged at Q and stage-whispered, “He’s picky.”

“Only tea here at the moment, I’m afraid,” Q said blandly as Alec walked past him. They settled at the round, four-place dining table that proved to be as uncomfortable as it was elegant.

“Put chair pillows on the list after coffee,” Alec complained, though without any particular venom. The chairs were wood, after all, and wood was so very flammable. All sorts of accidents happened in breakrooms.

“Breakfast pastries, too,” James muttered. “Or are we working later hours? Are our targets all ‘creatures of the night’?”

“Not all. And surprisingly few wear gold lame pants.” Q’s smirk was barely visible but there all the same. He walked over to the electric tea kettle and pressed the on switch.

“ _You’ve_ seen _Rocky Horror?_ ” Alec asked in disbelief. He couldn’t imagine Q leaving the house on a Saturday night for anything less than the new iPhone launch or something equally boring.

“Grew up watching it. I played Frank N. Furter in a small production at uni.” Q raised an eyebrow at Alec and added, “Executives _do_ have lives, 006.”

“Well, yes, but _dull_ lives.”

“That’s not winning any points,” James muttered.

Alec huffed. “Tanner.”

James lifted a hand. “True. So tell us, Q... How else are you more interesting than Tanner? Or is it just the lingerie?”

“I believe Tanner played Doctor Scott at one time, so...” Q’s amused smile was just awkward enough that Alec couldn’t tell whether he was lying. “It’s possible my only more interesting feature is my knife collection.”

Before Alec could do more than straighten in his chair, James snapped, “No.”

Alec scowled at him. “But —”

_“No.”_

“Not until you’ve learned which targets can only be killed with a blade. Then, _maybe._ ” Q seemed to be contemplating whether Alec was worthy.

Suspiciously, Alec asked, “Do you _actually_ collect knives, or are you talking about the bloody armoury here?”

“Time will tell. Open the book, Bond.” Q probably was trying for an enigmatic smile, but it came across as adorable. Distressingly adorable. Clearly, Alec was going to have to do something about that. He couldn’t be expected to work under these conditions.

“We could take this somewhere more comfortable — with more pillows,” he suggested, thinking more of James’ oversized bed than of the sofa, though either would do for a start.

“The chairs in the reading room are quite comfortable.” Q busied himself with taking a mug and a tin out of the cupboard.

While his back was turned, James shot Alec a questioning look, as if to ask, _Him? Really?_

Alec shrugged and pointed at James — a not-so-subtle reminder that during the Silva incident, damned near every one of James’ emails and texts had mentioned the Quartermaster in some way. Only one of them had an obsession that stretched back to Q’s first day with MI6, and it _wasn’t_ Alec. Mostly because Alec had been in the Caribbean at the time.

As if suspicious at their silence, Q turned back and noted, “You still haven’t opened the book. It won’t bite you know.”

“Too bad,” Alec said, refusing to give up. “We’re very good at —”

“If you say ‘stroking’...” James threatened.

Alec took the book out of James’ grasp and opened it. “I don’t have to. You did.”

“I’m not going to spend your entire training period pointing out Ms Rowling’s inaccuracies,” Q groused as he dropped a teabag into his mug. “Will either of you drink tea? Or is it too civilised for you?”

Alec was tempted to accept — _he_ didn’t have anything against tea — but James’ bleak look warned him off it. It wasn’t often that James’ jealous streak reared its head, and Alec wasn’t cruel enough to go poking at it with a stick. The sooner James got to shag the Quartermaster, the better for all of them.

Instead, he said, “That’s all right. We wouldn’t want to spill any on the book.”

“Well thought.” Q’s voice held an approving lilt. He looked back over his shoulder at them and said, “That book is the closest thing to a training manual that we have. Updating and digitising it is on my to-do list, but I haven’t had the time. Since I’m certain neither of you is interested in introductions, the first chart of relevance is on page nineteen.”

Alec and James both tried to turn pages, but Alec slapped James’ hands away and won out. Page nineteen looked like it wanted to be a flow chart, without the oddly shaped boxes. From the top to bottom, it started with _cold iron_ and ended with three choices. The first two — _acid_ and _fire_ — were legible. The third seemed to be _atomic radiation_ , but it had been emphatically crossed out, and in recent years.

“I take it we won’t be issued with nuclear weapons?” James asked, sounding disappointed.

“There’s talk in certain circles that some of the ‘testing’ done in the deserts of the U.S. was actually a zombie deterrent program.” Q mused, as he stepped closer to look over their shoulders. “But no. Of course not, Bond. Now, as you can see, 006, there are a plethora of options _before_ one needs to resort to fire. I want you looking closely at all of them to make sure you understand their use.”

“Not exactly efficient,” Alec said cheerfully. “If fire works on most everything, why muck about with ‘cold iron’ and ‘silver’?”

“Because subtlety is often necessary in this line of work. And collateral damage isn’t an option on British soil. Besides, I thought all you Double O’s prided yourselves in using the right weapon for each target.” Q’s right eyebrow hopped up as he looked at Alec.

“Fire’s rarely _not_ the right weapon,” Alec pointed out. James smirked in solidarity.

“And that sort of thinking is why you will be committing this page to memory before I issue you the pocket flamethrower I’ve been developing.” Q smiled wide and humourlessly for just a moment.

“With what fuel?” Alec asked, frowning. Portable flamethrowers existed, but the fuel tanks required made them problematic at best.

“I’ve been thinking about salamanders and fire elementals —” Q cut off, eyes narrowing. “But it’s still in beta testing, so no, you can’t see it. Now, many of these materials can take multiple forms — can be weaponised in different ways. Take cold iron. You can make it into a blade or a shotgun cartridge, but you can use an aerosol to disperse it in powdered form. Splash damage from a suspension of iron particulates in water. Even poison in the form of over-the-counter iron supplements.”

As Q went back to making his tea, Alec nodded slowly, his calm demeanour hiding the way his mind was racing. Were the _things_ that were their targets vulnerable only to touch or ingestion or could proximity cause harm? A building under construction with exposed steel girders could be an ideal trap. And copper was on the list, just under gold. What about copper plumbing?

“All this” — James gestured at the book, then at the door to the reading room — “implies that the supernatural is more pervasive than one would imagine, even from reading the _Daily Mail_. Why haven’t we encountered it before?”

“Much of the supernatural world has no desire to interact with humans. And by definition, they’re able to affect their environment, and many times their own physical forms, in order to keep from being discovered. Not to mention the fact that the human mind tends to reject things it believes to be impossible. A good number of the beings in those books aren’t threats. It’s only the ones who want to cause trouble that we concern ourselves with.” Q’s voice had shifted slightly from purely instructive to subtly reassuring.

So these _things_ could make people forget they existed? A little chill crawled up Alec’s spine at the thought. If he couldn’t trust his own mind...

James took a deep breath and glanced at him. They were thinking the same thing, but there was no need to involve Q just yet. Not until they knew the right questions to ask. They’d discuss this later, at length.

For now, Alec turned the page in the book, hoping to find something useful, but the next section went into creature classification rules, sprinkled with too much Latin for anyone’s good. Disappointed, he looked up at Q and asked, “If they’re so good at hiding, how do we find them?”

“A number of ways. I’m tasked with the general location of threats via surveillance, computational algorithms, and scrying, but finding them in the field is another lesson we’ll get to in time. I can’t teach you everything tonight.” Q looked down at his mug of tea as if willing it to steep faster.

Again, Alec glanced at James, silently asking, _Enough?_ When James gave a slight nod, Alec turned to grin at Q and asked, “Why don’t we find something else to do tonight?” As soon as the words were out, Alec had to hide a wince. He was usually much smoother — not to mention more effective — but he was distracted.

“Go right ahead. It’s getting late, and I shouldn’t keep you. I’ve got plenty to...” Q looked up from pouring milk into his tea and seemed to only then realise that Alec had been asking _him._ “Oh.” Was Alec imagining it, or did Q’s cheeks turn a bit rosy?

“Q,” James scolded, a sly edge creeping into his voice. “We’re not about to abandon you in a lonely basement. Let us at least buy you dinner.”

“It’s fine. I like it down here.” Q gestured at them both with his mug, smiling apologetically. “And I’m clearly not dressed for dinner.”

Alec nearly suggested that Q was welcome to _un_ dress for dinner, but there were lines even he and James wouldn’t cross. At least not when they had more important things to consider — such as MI13.

Instead, he closed the book and rose, tucking the book under his arm. James also stood, saying, “Tomorrow morning, then? Ten o’clock?”

“All right, yes. Come find me in Q Branch and I can show you how to open the doors. And give you keys to the lift.” Q smiled faintly before his face was hidden as he took a sip of tea.

As if they needed keys? What an adorable idea.

“You’ll need to let us out, of course,” Alec said, thinking that he wanted to hear those words again. He wasn’t sure if they were conventional Latin or some sort of magical language, but he hadn’t exactly had the same sort of classical education as James had.

“Certainly. Did you drive?” Q asked.

James shook his head. “Took the Tube this morning. Traffic,” he lied smoothly. They had a dozen different routes they took between work and home, everything from driving to the Underground. Some of the younger field agents had considered this an unprofessional level of paranoia until the two senior agents pointed out that they, unlike so many younger ones, were still alive.

“Good. You can go out this way.” Q turned to the far wall and blinked at it for a moment. Then he walked right up to the centre of it and touched his finger to the smooth, painted drywall, murmuring the word, _“Aperi,”_ once again.

 _Aperi,_ Alec thought, locking the word in his memory. That should be easy enough. And it didn’t look like the touch was anything special — just a prod against the wall at a natural height.

Once the lightning ring faded out, they found themselves looking at an arching brick corridor much like Churchill’s old tunnels. The lighting was nothing more than bare bulbs strung to wires nailed along one wall; many of the bulbs were out or flickering.

“The far end lets out into a storeroom in the Underground,” Q said. “No need to worry about locking it. And I don’t need to tell you to avoid being observed.”

James smiled. “You’re certain you don’t want to come with us? If you’re worried about being underdressed, I’d be more than happy to cook a private dinner for the three of us.”

Q stared for a moment, eyes wide and lips pressed together. Then he smiled slightly and said, “I didn’t know you could _cook,_ Bond.”

“I can do so much more than just cook, Quartermaster,” James said in a low, inviting voice.

“We’d be happy to show you,” Alec said, falling right into rhythm with James despite his preoccupation with Q’s secret spells.

“Hmm. Of course. Not tonight.” Q stepped to the side and gestured for them to enter the tunnel. “Have a lovely evening, but please get some rest. We’ve lots to cover tomorrow.”


	4. Chapter 4

The door closed at Q’s word directly behind the agents, and once he was looking at a blank wall, he sighed. Trouble was right. They were definitely a handful, but Q had to admit they would be formidable opponents to the threats that needed to be neutralised. Of course they needed to be trained — housebroken as well as being taught the art of hunting.

Q turned to look at the table the agents had been sitting at, and waited. A few sips of tea later, the red leather-bound book of countermeasures appeared on it. Alec had left with it under his arm — as if Q wouldn’t notice — but there was a finding spell on it. That meant as soon as they reached the outer doorway into the Tube, the book auto-returned itself to MI13. Q smiled to himself at the high probability of Alec cursing a blue streak at the moment. It was a good lesson to learn on the first night, so Q wouldn’t mention it to him tomorrow, but it was the principle of the thing. He needed to keep his eye on them.

And speaking of principles, Q was going to have to keep to his about not fraternising with people from his workplace. He’d successfully dodged the dinner bullet tonight, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been tempting. Slightly intimidating when they both directed the full force of their charm at him, but delicious nonetheless. In Q Branch it was easier to ignore them — a more public space with more people to interact with — but here in MI13 there were no distractions. It was just him and the Chaos Twins, as he and Eve had nicknamed them.

So much for MI13 being his haven of calm and order.

“Sent them away, have you?” Danielle asked as she manifested beside Q. Her misty face was hard to read, but Q suspected she was feeling a bit smug about her assessment of the Chaos Twins’ unprofessionalism.

“They’ve had enough for now. Can’t unload too much on them at once, or they won’t remember any of it.” He went over to the table and picked up the book, intending to reshelve it. “Especially on their first night.”

“You’re _keeping_ them?”

“Of course. I _need_ agents. They are agents. Besides, Mallory has decided. I can’t now look a gift horse in the mouth. I wouldn’t be given anything else I need for the rest of the year.” Q tried not to even think about how intrigued he was by the prospect of watching the two of them work together. The rumours around MI6 about the closeness between 006 and 007 kept everyone theorising. And after how they worked seamlessly together to hit on him tonight — as if they really did share _everything_ — he was beginning to wonder.

Danielle let out a sigh that matched the ghostly sounds used in better horror movies — full of despair and resignation. “I suppose you’re right, Quartermaster,” she said reluctantly. “They just seem so... _questionable_. How will they possibly react to their first sight of a rogue werewolf pack? A carnivorous unicorn?”

“As well-trained agents should. They’ve lasted this long in a profession that has a short expiration date. It’s not their skill against the targets that has me concerned.”

“Then what?” she asked, turning to regard him worriedly.

Q sighed. “How in hell I’m going to get them to take this seriously without setting off their paranoia to a level that makes them ineffective topside.”

“Paranoia? They didn’t seem paranoid in the least. Blase, if anything.”

“You missed the secure entrance debacle.” Q smiled sheepishly. He’d been remiss to not mention the misting. He’d become inured to it by now, and he hadn’t been thinking like an agent.

“Did something malfunction? You upgraded the system just last year.”

“The mist startled them. And you know what happens when a Double O agent is startled... I have to replace the glass to the guard’s booth.” He grimaced as he put that on his mental to-do list.

“Oh.” Danielle flickered out of sight for a moment. “That’s... awkward. Shoot first, ask questions later isn’t precisely a good idea in this field.”

“I have faith they’ll hit their stride once they have a better handle on the supernatural. Individually, their mission success rates are good. Together, they’re stellar.” It was possible Q had done quite a bit of research on Bond when his first mission as Quartermaster ended up being with the famed 007, and so by default, he knew a good deal more than necessary about them both. Bond didn’t seem to exist without Trevelyan and vice versa.

Danielle huffed. “If you say so, Quartermaster,” she said sceptically. “For now, you need to start the evening database maintenance.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

~~~

 

Tonight’s route home required two trains and a taxi, which meant they travelled in silence. Alec was probably itching to dig into the puzzle of MI13, but James appreciated the time to think.

He supposed he should have been having fits over the thought that magic and monsters were real, but nothing was particularly surprising, these days. Most people had no idea how often the world reeled from crisis to crisis. Supernatural threats were hardly any more shocking than the number of rogue nuclear, chemical, and biological ones already out there.

They went back to James’ flat, both to discuss the day’s events and because Alec was — again — living with him. After twenty years, James no longer believed Alec’s excuses of kitchen fires and conflicts with landlords. Much as Alec liked a few months of freedom at a time, he also occasionally got surprisingly lonely without someone to pester into cooking him a meal.

“The book’s gone,” Alec said as soon as James had the door locked.

James frowned. Over the beep of the alarm re-arming, he asked, “Gone?”

“Gone. Disappeared right out from under my bloody jacket,” Alec complained as he took off the offending garment. He hung it on a coat hook near the door, which was an improvement over him throwing it on the floor, though one that still made James wince.

“Magic, I suppose,” James said dryly. He took the jacket down and arranged it neatly on the hanger kept there for just that purpose. Alec’s suit jackets never made it past the foyer.

“Bloody unfair is what it is,” Alec muttered, heading right for the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”

“Am I feeding you again?”

“It’s late. I’m bloody starving.”

James hid a fond smile and unknotted his tie as he followed Alec. “So that’s it. We find out that all the horror stories and fairy tales are real, and you’re more worried about dinner?”

“I don’t see any ghosts or goblins in need of shooting.” Alec didn’t turn away from the open refrigerator. “That leftover lasagne is older than I am.”

“We should probably reheat it.”

“And give us food poisoning?”

“Since when do you care about food poisoning on a work night?”

Alec huffed. “Since ‘work’ means we can get our hands on that library.” He took the foil-covered tray out of the refrigerator and went right for the bin. “Make us something that _won’t_ kill us. I’m going to change.”

Instead of getting down to cooking, James smirked, mentally counting down. Three... two... one —

Right on cue, Alec asked, “And did you notice what Q _didn’t_ mention? Dress code.”

“Yes, well, he couldn’t exactly _enforce_ a dress code without updating his own fashion,” James said, not quite able to hide a shudder. “Of course, lack of dress code explains that awful cardigan he was wearing that first day back.”

“What?” Alec turned. “What cardigan?”

“Dog-shit brown with unflattering striped edging. It was horrid.”

Alec smirked and clapped a hand on James’ shoulder. “Horrid enough that it engraved itself on your memory after how long?”

James shot Alec a flat glare. “He doesn’t look like a typical MI6 executive.”

“Which means we don’t have to dress like MI6 assassins.” Alec headed out of the kitchen. “Food, James! Starving!”

Shaking his head, James started taking out ingredients. The lasagne had died of old age, but pasta was fast, and he was too distracted for anything fancy. In fact, he searched the cupboards until he found a jar of sauce that wasn’t too dusty. He’d throw in some garlic powder and oregano, and it’d be good enough.

Water was boiling by the time Alec returned barefoot, in faded jeans and a T-shirt he’d stolen from James years ago. “Devil’s advocate time?” Alec asked as he took a seat at the kitchen island. Then he winced and said, “Bloody poor phrasing. Sorry.”

James grimaced, stirring the sauce. “The doors,” he said thoughtfully. “Holograms. Some sort of static electrical field.”

“The book?” Alec shook his head. “I wasn’t pickpocketed, unless you did it.”

“You’re _certain_ you didn’t drop it?”

Alec stared at him.

James shrugged, leaning back against the counter. He looked up at the ceiling, thinking about everything they’d seen in the last few hours. “Gaslighting seems a bit overdone.”

Alec barked out a laugh. “Could be a test. See if we actually believe this...”

He _didn’t_ finish that sentence with ‘rubbish’ — a telling omission that James couldn’t help but note. The question was, did he believe this because it was true or because he had an overactive imagination and ridiculous attachment to the Harry Potter novels?

Then James laughed ruefully and turned to stir both pots. “Do you ever get the feeling that we’re a pair of suspicious old bastards?”

“Well, yeah. But we’re alive because of it.”

“If Mallory wanted us out, all he’d need is a legitimate psych eval. He wouldn’t have to go through all this nonsense. Besides, Q wouldn’t do —”

_“Aha.”_

James looked back, frowning as he replayed the last few seconds of conversation. Then he winced and went back to stirring. “Yes. I trust him.”

“You _like_ him.”

“So do you.”

He didn’t have to turn to know Alec shrugged. “We share the same taste.”

James seized on the opportunity to turn things around. “You certainly made your feelings clear. Could you have been any less subtle?”

“Who has time for subtle? Besides, subtle’s boring,” Alec dismissed casually. “I cut through weeks of tedious flirtation. That’s all.”

“Some of us _like_ that sort of thing.”

Alec laughed wickedly. “You’d like it more if we had the Quartermaster in our bed to appreciate the flirting.”

“At that point, it’s not flirtation anymore.” James pointed at the cupboard with the plates, and Alec got up to arrange place settings — which for him meant nothing more than plates and forks. “Is that what we’re aiming for?”

“Why not?” Alec asked. “You like him. He seems interesting. He’s adorable, in a terribly scruffy way. And he has information we want.”

James grinned as he got out the colander. “He could also make our professional lives hell.”

“We could do the same to him.”

“True.” James stirred the pasta, feeling the texture through the spoon. “An executive.”

“Mhm.”

“I suppose we’re running out of new things to try.”

“So,” Alec said casually, “you don’t want him for yourself, then?”

James shot Alec a startled look. “No, why —” he began, frowning. “You actually think I do?”

“You were awfully... territorial about him.”

“I was not!” James found an oven mitt that wasn’t scorched too badly — a hazard of allowing Alec anywhere near the kitchen — and went to drain the pasta. “What do we do about this MI13 business?”

“Play along. Even if it’s some strange lark of Mallory’s, it’s not entirely out of character for us.” Alec shrugged.

“More fun than sodding paperwork,” James conceded.

“And we can seduce the Quartermaster in private.”

James shot Alec a look. “Is that _all_ you think about?”

“No, but bitching won’t make you cook dinner any faster. Did you make garlic bread?”

“You could get off your arse and make it yourself.”

“Are you rescinding your threat if I touch the oven?”

James winced. “I’ll make it tomorrow. We’ll have it with leftover spaghetti.”

Alec smirked. “And get the good parmesan — not the rubbish in the plastic shaker.”

“Shopping’s your job,” James countered. “Just like doing all the washing up.”


	5. Chapter 5

Seven-twelve in the morning, and Q Branch was perfectly silent. It was the only time of the day that Q could get the concentration to review the night’s work. And never the time of day that he received text alerts. So when his phone buzzed loudly in the quiet room, it entirely wrecked his concentration. He sighed, knowing he’d have to go back and review the data from his little crew of voyeurs who did overnight surveillance.

The text was an automatic alert from his computer in MI13. Someone had gained unauthorised access to the facility.

 _Or two someones,_ he thought dryly. Q couldn’t decide if he was more exasperated or impressed. He closed down his workstation and went to the lift, heading to the sub-basement. On the way down, he wondered idly how the Double O’s had got in. Clearly they were very observant, but without a lift key or without breaking down the service door in the Tube, they couldn’t even get near one of the spell-locked entrances.

He entered MI13 as usual, but paused for just a second in the corridor before he stepped through the door into the reading room. Two Double O’s in the midst of breaking and entering might react poorly to being startled. “Bond?” he called gently. “Trevelyan?”

“What the bloody hell are you doing here at this hour?” Trevelyan asked. He was crouched at the bottom of the first bookshelf to the left — the one primarily cataloguing nonsentient creatures — and Q couldn’t help but stare. Instead of the suits that he wore with utter resentment, he was in dark jeans that hugged his body and a T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and back. A leather jacket was thrown over the nearest armchair.

“I’ve been here since six.” Q had to clear his throat to continue. “Well, upstairs. Q Branch.” He looked for Bond, but there was no sign of him. Not in the reading room.

“You need someone to give you a proper reason to stay in bed, then,” Trevelyan said, getting to his feet. He turned the full force of his lopsided smile on Q — an utterly unfair tactic, given that Q had only had one and a half cups of tea so far.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of Trevelyan’s mouth, as he said, “Bond?” His voice was just loud enough to carry into the agents’ office.

“Oh, he’ll be along,” Trevelyan said, prowling towards Q. “Or were you hoping _he’d_ give you a reason to stay in bed?”

“Of — of course not.” Q looked away, embarrassed, then spotted Bond through the windows to his own office. _Right._ He headed straight to the doors, tossing over his shoulder, “I figured he was _your_ reason.”

Alec laughed. “Maybe I just needed to find something to read — since the _other_ book was unavailable.”

“Ah, yes.” Q stopped with his hand on the door. “They don’t like being taken out of MI13.”

“Temperamental. Though I suppose we could just spend the night here,” Alec said invitingly. Still smiling.

“Yes, you could. I suggest bringing a sleeping bag.” Q didn’t wait for Trevelyan’s response before entering his office. He stepped right up to Bond who was sitting at his computer, and checked the screen. Solitaire. There was no way he hadn’t been snooping around only a couple of moments before. “I don’t remember inviting you in.”

“We’re all part of a team now, Q,” Bond said, and damn if his smile wasn’t just as charming as Trevelyan’s. “Besides, we’re trying to catch up. On our own time. We even came in early, just for you.”

“Not for me. Don’t pretend. You have your own computers to play solitaire on. You don’t need mine.” Q motioned for Bond to get out of his chair. “Teamwork requires trust, Bond. Try building some.”

Bond slid the chair back and turned to face Q. “Trust and hard work,” he said, standing and taking a quick step forward, putting him just inches away from Q. Unlike Trevelyan, who looked like he was in a better class of street gang, Bond was impeccably dressed in a deep blue suit with a slate grey tie. His white pocket square gleamed and was perfectly creased.

Q held his breath as his heart slammed once into his chest at their proximity. He couldn’t tell if it was to do with the animal magnetism Bond exuded or the fact that he knew by the drape of Bond’s suit that he was carrying a gun. “Yes. And I appreciate the early start, but please give me a few minutes alone. Then I can address whatever questions you may have.”

“Just one,” Bond said, smile brightening one notch. “The Pret across the street, or do you have a favourite cafe nearby?”

Q blinked. “I have tea right here... Are you looking for pastries?”

“Breakfast, Q,” Bond said, his voice taking on a fond warmth. “We’re going out for breakfast. And if you don’t have a preference, I have just the restaurant in mind. All you have to decide is if you want to ride with Alec on his motorcycle or with me. I’m trying another new Jaguar, though I’m not entirely sold on it.”

“I don’t take a break until ten. I still have to catch up on things upstairs and then check the surveillance programs down here...” He trailed off as Bond took hold of his arm and turned him away from the desk.

“New staff. New routine,” Bond said, giving Q a gentle push towards the door. “Grab your coat. It’s chilly in the car park. You can ride with me.”

Q realised he’d end up getting more done if he didn’t have to fend off his feral agents all day, and he relented. “Only because it’s your first day. And I must be back in forty-five minutes. I have minions to supervise upstairs.” He grabbed his anorak off the hook by the door and tried not to be embarrassed by the fact that Danielle had surely witnessed the shameless way his agents were acting.

“Quartermaster,” Bond scolded, taking the coat out of Q’s hands. He gave it a shake and held it out, smiling the whole time. “Delay your meeting by thirty minutes, at the very least. We’re having a civilised breakfast. Besides, the guards at the car park are always confused by early morning departures. It’ll take them ten minutes just to find the button to raise the gate.”

“I don’t have that sort of time, Bond. That’s absurd.” Q huffed in exasperation “What are we meant to do waiting around for _ten minutes?_ ”

“I’ll let you play with any levers and knobs you like,” Bond said, and then paused just long enough for Q’s face — and imagination — to catch fire. Then, giving the coat another shake, he said, “The Jaguar isn’t entirely to my taste, but the dashboard’s a work of art.”

“Oh, for — 006!” Q tugged his coat out of Bond’s hands as he called through the open door, “Get this man out of my office so I can work. Take him to breakfast, take him for a walk, but go. You obviously know how to get back in when you’re through.”

Trevelyan blinked at Q, then looked past him at Bond. “What?”

“ _We’re_ taking him out to breakfast,” Bond said, flattening his hand between Q’s shoulderblades. “I suppose you don’t need the coat if you’re getting in my car.”

“Wait, what?” Trevelyan frowned. “Who says he wouldn’t rather ride with me? Your Jaguar’s a piece of rubbish.”

“Your motorcycle’s older than the Quartermaster.”

“It’s _vintage_.”

“It has parts falling off.”

“Pret!” Q had to raise his voice over their idiotic bickering to have a hope of being heard. “We can _walk._ ” He glared at Bond before he could protest. “That’s my final offer.”

After exchanging another look with Bond, Trevelyan walked away from the bookshelf to get his jacket. He shrugged it on, then reached back to tug it into place; presumably, he was wearing a lower back holster. “We accept,” he said, holding his hand out to Q.

“Idiots.” Q stepped quickly past Trevelyan to the door that led to the corridor, mostly so they wouldn’t see the smile tugging at his lips.

 

~~~

 

James had learned almost nothing from Q’s computer, except that the programs that gave MI6’s Q Branch access to satellites and surveillance cameras all over the world were apparently used in MI13 to keep watch on the UK and Ireland. Not that James was going to ask about that now. Q knew that he’d been poking around outside the only game he’d found — and who the hell would’ve expected Q to play _solitaire?_ — but they were operating under the polite fiction that James’ motives had been innocent.

For now, as they headed up to the ground floor, James took advantage of the lift’s privacy to ask, “You did go home last night, didn’t you?”

“Yes. For a few hours.” Q smiled reassuringly at him. “I’d left some paperwork at home.”

“That’s not a healthy work-life balance,” James scolded.

“Wasn’t there a seminar on that?” Alec asked. “I remember skipping a mandatory seminar on that.”

“I actually _slept._ I just did so in my bed, rather than on the sofa in my office upstairs. There’s not much balance to be found when you’re running two departments.” Q shrugged.

James shook his head. “That’s no way to live. I watched M run herself to the ground because of this bloody place.” He stepped an inch closer, conscious of the cameras mounted to the ceiling. “You need to make time for yourself.”

“Well, part of the deal to get you two — or, well, any two agents they’d allow me — was that it would cut down on work for me, and I wouldn’t burn out too quickly. So behave yourselves.”

“We always behave,” Alec said, taking a casual step closer to Q.

Q looked at him, glanced back at James, then snarked, “Appropriately. Behave _appropriately._ Until you understand the definition of that word...” He shook his head. “Point is, I’m glad to have some help. Which is not the same thing as distraction.”

“We _are_ helping,” Alec all but purred, and James had to turn away to hide his smirk. “Aren’t we, James?”

“We live to be helpful, yes,” James said, surrendering to his grin.

Q rolled his eyes dramatically at both of them and opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again and leaned against the wall of the lift. “Mhmm. We’ll see.” There was a hint of a smile around his lips. Watching him, James couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to get him to smile even more.

He didn’t find out in the lift, though; at the upper parking level, a pack of roving administrators boarded. James would’ve crowded Q into a back corner, but they had to exit at the next level, so he behaved himself. In the lobby, he and Alec fell into pattern before and after Q — already, they were thinking of him as theirs to protect.

Outside, it was just sunny enough to require sunglasses and to take the edge off the chill that had Q tugging his parka closed. By this afternoon, assuming it didn’t rain, the park across the river would be full of security threats for the guards to watch. Between Silva and the missile launch a few years ago, MI6’s in-house security force was justifiably paranoid.

“If we’re having fast food for breakfast, you have to let us take you to a proper dinner tonight,” James said once they were out on the street.

“Only if we get through most of your introductory training today.” Q glanced over his shoulder at James, his eyes stern, his mouth soft. “And there’s a _lot_ to get through.”

“Mmm, perhaps for _other_ field reps,” James murmured, conscious that they were speaking out in the street, where security couldn’t be guaranteed.

Alec slowed and dropped back beside Q. “You’ve never worked with _us_ before.”

“You’ve never worked with this sort of issue before. The ways to muck it up are endless. And ninety per cent of them will result in termination. I want you safe, so I’ll be thorough.” Q’s snark had disappeared, and all James could see on his face was sincerity and concern.

It was actually touching. James couldn’t remember the last time an executive had actually given a damn about him and Alec, beyond the utility provided by two living agents instead of two corpses. James stepped up to Q’s other side and put a hand on his arm. The down parka compressed without resistance, making James wish that Q hadn’t bothered with it. Could Q even feel his touch?

“We’ll be fine,” he said, stumbling over Q’s title. It was ridiculously frustrating that James and Alec had yet to discover Q’s actual identity. No driving licence, no personal mobile phone, and his residence was owned through a corporation. Q was effectively more invisible than any other executive or high profile target James had ever tracked.

Q turned to smile at him. “Of course you will, because I’m the one who will train you.”

 

~~~

 

Q wasn’t a fighter.

He’d been an agent in Her Majesty’s Secret Service for years, first in MI13, later in MI6. He’d undergone all the standard training required for employees and, later, executives. And because of the sheer volume of equipment testing he’d done, he’d become a bloody expert with handguns, rifles, and even shotguns. But handling knives was not his forte by any stretch.

Not as it was for his two agents.

After a morning of thinly-veiled flirting between lectures on the threats MI13 handled, Q had decided that his agents needed something other than reading to occupy their minds. MI13’s standard issue knives were problematic with modern airline security regulations. The blades were seven inches of iron spell-worked against rust, with a silver inlay on one side and gold on the other. The hilts were rowan to hopefully disrupt hostile spells. Only the pommels were normal stainless steel, meant to be interchanged so an agent could customise the weight and balance to their preference.

It had taken Trevelyan and Bond all of five minutes to feel confident enough for a ‘bit of sparring,’ as Bond had airily put it.

Because MI13 was too small to have proper training facilities,  Q took them up to an MI6 training room. And there, as far as Q could see, they launched into a battle that had them doing their best to kill one another. Q was tempted to call a halt to it, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from them. They were beautiful. Frightening and lethal, but so very entrancing. They moved with such casual grace and startling power all at once, feinting and thrusting and swiping at each other in what looked like a complicated dance. A dance in which moving out of place or rhythm was a deadly mistake. It was breathtaking — literally. There were quite a few moments Q held his breath or caught it, certain one of his agents would sustain a mortal wound.

But as Q watched it became clear that they knew each other well enough to read and anticipate their moves so as never to be in serious danger. At least, that was what Q hoped. The fight was too fast and forceful to interrupt without risk of injury to one or both of them.

Best let them fight it out and simply marvel at how well they moved together — as if they were drift compatible and working with some sort of shared brain capacity. Anyone else at MI6 would’ve thought it simply the product of their years of experience fighting side-by-side, but Q was always looking for other explanations. They _had_ broken into MI13 HQ without him even explaining the set-spells to them. Were his agents hiding something else? He really did need to look at Boothroyd’s test results for the two of them at some point.

By the time they were finished, Q was exhausted just from watching them. They trotted over to him as if they had energy to spare despite the sweat that made their T-shirts cling to their bodies. “These’ll do,” Trevelyan said, spinning the knife in his hand. “What’s next?”

Miraculously, Q refrained from saying _nap time._ He had to shake his head to banish the image of a cuddle pile. There was work to be done, and that was _not_ appropriate. Neither was suggesting a shower. At least, not as his traitorous imagination saw it. God, how was he going to survive working with these two?

“Go shower. _Alone,_ ” he added emphatically, seeing both of his problematic agents open their mouths to issue inappropriate invitations. “When you’re presentable, meet me back downstairs. And take your time. I have to check up on some reports from Q Branch, so I might be an hour or so.”

“Sounds boring,” Trevelyan declared. “You should come with us instead.”

“You did like our idea for breakfast,” Bond said unhelpfully. “I’m certain we could make a shower equally enjoyable.”

“I don’t need a shower. What I _need_ is to get work done,” Q said, sternly. “I’m sure the two of you can find ways of making your shower enjoyable without me.”

“Is that an order?” Bond asked slyly.

“If it were an order, I’d require documentation to ensure it had been completed.” That was a stupid move. Q knew better than to give these two ideas. And he certainly didn’t need those images, mental or otherwise.

“We can do that,” Trevelyan said immediately. “Can’t we do that, James?”

“I believe we can manage,” Bond practically purred at Q. “With details.”

Trevelyan grinned. “We’re brilliant at details.”

Q panicked for a second at the idea that they’d actually do something so inappropriate. Hopefully they were just trying to see what his reaction would be. He tried his best not to blush and used his most serious quartermaster voice to say, “I did _not_ order that. I mean it. Now go away. I have actual work to do.”

“All right,” Bond said, laughing. “As long as you won’t be bored.”

“Or overworked,” Trevelyan added. “We don’t want you to be too tired for later.”

“Get out of my sight, agent. You too, 007. And try to at least pretend like you aren’t an HR disaster waiting to happen.” Q pointed towards the locker room for emphasis.

“Yes, sir,” Bond said in an absolutely filthy growl. Trevelyan barked out a laugh and gave Bond a shove, and the two of them headed across the gym, pushing each other and laughing.

Q shook his head, as much at himself as his problem agents, and headed down to the safety of MI13 to find tea and a not-quite-sympathetic ear. He needed both before he’d be able to focus on anything else.


	6. Chapter 6

“You look awful.”

The voice came from right behind Q’s ear, shattering the silence of the break room, and made him jump. The tea kettle wasn’t yet boiling, but he’d just gotten a mug down from the cupboard and almost dropped it. “Shit. Pardon, Danielle. You startled me.”

She hummed thoughtfully — an unnerving sound from a ghost — and manifested beside him, eyes narrowed. “ _And_ distracted. That’s unwise in this business, Quartermaster.”

“I’m fine.” He gave her a tight smile and found his tin of Earl Grey. “I’m not used to working with others down here. I’ll get acclimated shortly.”

“Except, they aren’t here now,” she said, tipping her head to regard him thoughtfully. “An unquiet mind is vulnerable. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. They just take up psychic space even when they aren’t here.” Q tried not to blush at effectively saying he couldn’t stop thinking about those two infuriating men as he reached for the sugar.

“Yes. Yes, they do, in fact,” she said, frowning as her form wavered — a sign that her concentration was elsewhere.

If she’d noticed something, maybe it wasn’t just Q’s imagination that they were different. “Did Boothroyd ever test them for... anything? Sensitivities or whatnot? I wonder about how good they are together.”

“The less disreputable one kept trying to see me this morning.”

She meant the one in the suit — Bond. “What do you mean? Were you watching when they broke in?” Q still hadn’t had time to go through his computer and see what Bond had been looking for.

“Of course, I was,” she said with a demure little huff.

“Did you show yourself to him? Or did he just sense your gaze?” Q stopped fiddling with his tea things and turned to rest his hip on the counter, looking straight at her.

“Oh, I certainly didn’t show myself to him. Those two” — she sniffed — “are hardly director material. No, I kept a close eye on him, though. He had no business being in your office. But he kept _trying_ to see me. Very irritating.”

“I told him he wasn’t welcome; he didn’t care. But the fact that he could sense you is something, no?” Q was getting cautiously excited about the possibility that at least one of his MI13 agents might be even marginally tapped into the supernatural without the aid of instruments.

“Yes. I suppose...” She turned her frown on Q and asked, somewhat delicately, “Have intake testing standards become... _lax?_ Not under your watch, I’m certain, but your predecessor could be a bit flighty. Easily distracted.”

Q tried not to hear that last sentence as a tacit reprimand on his current mental state. “MI6 has its own priorities. But Boothroyd was the one who spotted me when I applied for a job in IT.” He abandoned his tea and beckoned her to follow him to his office. “Let’s see what he did with our boys.”

“‘Our boys’?” she quoted, drifting along beside him. Instead of passing through the door, she flickered through the wall.

Q ducked his head and pushed up his glasses. That was a ridiculous thing to call them. They were both older than him. And Danielle didn’t want anything to do with them — certainly not in such an informal way as that. He tried to dodge whatever scolding she would give him about being too familiar by saying, “They feel like a couple of primary school children.”

“Primary school children would be turned out neatly in uniforms,” she pointed out wryly.

“Not these two. You know their shirttails were always out and their jumpers went missing and...” Q stopped and cleared his throat. He was imagining 006 and 007 as schoolchildren. Did it get more ridiculous? He stepped into his office and up to his computer without looking over at Danielle.

Even before 006 and 007 had been transferred to him, he'd had access to their full files. And he’d done his research, certainly, to get a feel of their mission histories, but he hadn’t spent much time looking any further back than when each of them had made it to Double O status.

Now, though, he opened their files and went all the way back to their intake testing. Top marks for physical fitness, combat readiness, and extreme condition survival. Similar top marks in resistance to interrogation training — and psychological fitness, which made Q wonder if they’d been faking their answers back then or if they were now.

“Aha,” he murmured as he reached the ‘miscellaneous’ testing category. This was where Major Boothroyd had hidden away his MI13 tests...

And Q sighed. He should’ve anticipated that 006 and 007 had been tested using Boothroyd’s _old_ testing protocols and not the updated ones Q had developed while he’d been Boothroyd’s assistant. The old ESP tests — predicting the next card from a deck with simplistic shapes, for example — were laughable even for people with psychic abilities. 006 and 007 had both scored on the high end of normal, which Boothroyd had written off as their talents at ‘human behaviour prediction.’ Basically, reading people _without_ psychic abilities.

Q’s updated tests ran the gamut of psychic and preternatural abilities, from direct mind-reading — the card test, only with a human holding the cards, rather than simply predicting the next one in the deck — to psychometry, more commonly known as object reading.

It was clearly time to update their files and see how they did on Q’s tests.

 

~~~

 

For all the technology upgrades Q Branch had developed in the last few years, water still foiled all but the highest quality listening devices. The constant fog in the showers would degrade most electronics, and the white noise of the showers — all eight of them, though James and Alec had the room to themselves — meant there was almost no chance of anyone eavesdropping.

“He’s got to be serious about this,” James said, rubbing at the shoulder where Eve had shot him. It hadn’t healed right to start with, and it constantly ached. “Otherwise, he would’ve reported us.”

“He could just be thick-headed,” Alec countered. “Or interested.”

James couldn’t hide the sour note in his voice as he said, “If he’s interested, he’s hiding it well.”

“Or he’s just being professional about it. Here, let me.”

James dropped his hands and bit back a groan when Alec’s fingers rubbed over the scar tissue. “How the hell can this _actually_ be serious? Ghosts?”

“It might well explain some of the things we’ve omitted from our reports. Morocco, for one.”

“Experimental non-lethal weapons.”

“ _Or_ a ghost.”

“But ultra-low sound waves...” James trailed off as Alec dug his fingers in again.

“... can mimic a haunting. I know. I spent four months in Utah with nothing but the Discovery Channel for company.”

James snorted, rolling his shoulder under Alec’s hands. “So it’s all real. How the _hell_ can it be real? Without us knowing?”

Alec didn’t move his hands away, so James felt his shrug. “No idea. Suppose we’ll figure it out eventually, though. We always do.”

James rubbed his face, clearing the water away. “True.” He looked back over his shoulder at Alec. “Are we entertaining ourselves or harassing the Quartermaster?”

“Both. Let’s go find him.” Alec slapped James’ back, then went back to his own shower head to rinse off.

“You still want him?” James asked as he turned to tip his head back under the stream.

“Was my opinion supposed to change because it’s Tuesday?”

James laughed. “Fair enough.”

 

~~~

 

“Right.” Q watched his agents enter MI13 and stood up from his computer. He’d forgotten to give them their lift keys. How did they keep getting down here? He walked over and leaned against the doorframe to address them. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” Trevelyan asked, casually tossing his jacket onto an armchair, rather than hanging it in the agents’ office.

“Get in here. I haven’t issued you keys or shown you how to unlock the spell-locked doors.” Q looked closely at both of them for any hint, but all he got were charming, somewhat smug grins.

“You didn’t want us to wait in the car park, did you?” Bond asked.

“I specifically remember being written up for lurking,” Trevelyan said, frowning innocently at Bond. “Weren’t we written up for lurking?”

“Well, only until we proved Jennings in I&A was selling secrets. Then we got a commendation.”

“Interesting,” Q deadpanned. “Doesn’t answer my question.” He reached into his pocket and took out the lift keys he was to issue them and started to slide one off of the key ring.

“He was selling to the French, of all things. DGSE,” Bond explained unnecessarily. “Then again, ‘ally’ is a subjective sort of thing in the world of espionage.”

They were incorrigible. Both of them. But they were lovely with wet hair and their cheeks flushed from the hot water, smelling of soap and shampoo. Q almost wished he _had_ joined them, then did everything possible to erase the images that came with that idea. “Again, not what I asked. Did you nick a key from somewhere or are you ruining the lock? And do you remember to close the spell-locked doors after you go through them?” He looked Bond directly in the eye as he asked the last question.

Bond’s smile never even twitched. “We haven’t left any doors open for monsters to creep through.”

“And we wouldn’t ruin government property,” Trevelyan added.

Q just looked at both of them and sighed. He’d probably never get a straight answer as to how they did it. “Well then return the one you stole, because these are your official keys.” He held out one to each of them. “And next time, I want you to show me how you get in and out so I know you’re doing it right.”

They both stalked over to him and, in eerie concert, reached for the keys at the same time. Q’s breath caught as their fingers slid over his palms, sending shivers up his arms and down his spine. Instead of stepping back, though, they moved even closer, until they were all crowded together in the doorway to his office.

Over the pounding of his heart and the hum of computer fans, he heard Danielle sigh —

And both of his agents looked up over his shoulders. It was just a quick scan of his office, barely more than a glance, but the timing couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Q’s brain kicked into gear again, and he took a breath as he stepped back to invite them in. “Right. Come on. We have some testing to do.”

“What sort of testing?” Trevelyan asked, a hint of suspicion coming into his voice.

“I had a full battery of tests right before we met,” Bond said, and he didn’t bother to hint — his voice was sharp with old anger.

Q tried to speak reassuringly. “These aren’t to tell your fitness as an agent, Bond. They’re to see whether you have any sensitivities to the paranormal. I need this information to properly direct you on your missions.” He kept himself from reaching out to touch Bond’s arm. The moment he didn’t, however, he wished he had.

The two agents exchanged a glance. Q had no idea what they were communicating to one another, but Alec spoke up first: “What happens if we don’t?”

“It’s fine if you don’t. I just need to know that before I send you on a mission.” He gestured for them to enter his office. “This isn’t a pass/fail situation. Don’t worry.”

After another quick exchange of glances, they walked past Q and into the office, looking around warily. At least this time Q knew they were looking for any hints about these tests as well as what they didn’t know was MI13’s resident ghost.

“You’d think that we’d know if we were psychic or something,” Alec said as he went to look at the bank of screens Q used for information gathering, rather than his personal monitor on the desk.

Q watched his back as he responded, “Some people think of their extrasensory perception as intuition or lucky hunches. Or they believe they’re good at reading people or connecting with them but don’t know that they’re mildly able to read minds. It’s a spectrum.”

“We read people professionally,” Bond said, his voice diplomatically neutral. “It’s what we were trained to do.”

Trevelyan snorted, turning away from the screens. “Intuition’s all that’s kept us alive this long.”

“Yes, I’m aware of both of those things. And you’ve been exceptional at each. The question is simply whether it’s a matter of good training or something more that's kept you so successful for so long.” Q reached for the deck of testing cards he’d unearthed shortly before his agents came back from their showers. As he took them from the box, he said, “Have a seat, both of you.”

The sight of the cards seemed to relax Bond further, and Q remembered Bond, unlike Trevelyan, had a fondness for high-stakes gambling. That was one of the few differences between the two agents who were otherwise so similar.

He beckoned Bond to come sit in his computer chair as he said, “006, grab the guest chair and bring it here, won’t you?” Trevelyan took the lone chair from against the wall and brought it to Q’s desk. As they sat, he explained, “It’s a simple test. In fact, you’ve done a variation of it before, during your initial intake. All you have to do is guess what’s on the card as it’s being held up.” He took the top card from the deck and raised it up, back outwards, as a demonstration.

Bond frowned. “What sort of cards are those?”

Q pointed to where he’d left the box on his desk and said, “A testing pack for ESP. The five possible symbols are printed right there on the front. They’re different colours as well, if perchance you pick up on that.”

“Boothroyd did this,” Trevelyan said abruptly, sitting forward to take the next card off the deck. He flipped it over and tossed it down. “Didn’t he do this with you?”

Bond’s frown deepened. “Yes, he did.” He looked over at Q. “Why are we doing this again?”

Q refrained from saying _because Boothroyd did it wrong,_ and instead managed, “Testing procedures have changed since then. They’re more accurate now. And your results were inconclusive.”

“What? For both of us?” Trevelyan asked.

Q sighed. Technically, with the way Boothroyd conducted these tests, _everyone’s_ results were inconclusive. But that was beside the point. “Yes. You both showed high enough marks that, with more accurate testing, could prove to be psychic sensitivity.”

The hint of a grin tugged at Trevelyan’s mouth, though Bond’s frown didn’t entirely leave. Another difference between them. Had Bond always been the more suspicious and tense of the two or had the Silva incident changed him?

“All right,” Trevelyan said, glancing at the deck. “What do we do?”

“As I said, you attempt to read the card that’s being held up.” Q put the two that had been drawn on the bottom of the pile and set it on the desk. “Let’s have you try first, 006.” He held up the top card so neither of them could see it. It was a blue star.

Trevelyan glanced at the box as if assessing his options. “The squiggles. Is that meant to be orange or red?”

Bond picked up the box and tipped it from side to side. “Orange, poor quality ink.”

“Orange squiggles, then.”

Q realised he hadn’t prepared for this test at all and didn’t have his tablet set up to record responses. These two kept him wrong-footed so much of the time it was a wonder he remembered anything. He set the card face down in front of him and reached for a pen and paper to make notes. Then he drew the next card — a green square — and said, “Your turn, 007.”

“Green square,” Bond said casually.

A twinge of excitement shot through Q, though he did his best to keep his expression neutral to avoid contaminating the results. Boothroyd’s testing really had been flawed.

But the next two dozen cards produced no more successes than one could expect based on random guesses. He tried not to feel disappointed, but as he’d said, this wasn’t a prerequisite for working for MI13. In Q’s case, he’d been recruited because of his sensitivities, but that was more about Boothroyd needing a protege than anything else. He tried to see if there was any pattern around which guesses they got correct — that maybe they were clued into one shape over the others — but he got distracted by his bored agents continuing the test between each other.

“Hang on. How many has Bond got right just now?”

Trevelyan flipped over the cards that Bond had guessed. “All of them, sodding cheat.”

“Then you’re cheating, too,” Bond accused.

“What? Both of you are...?” They _had_ to be cheating. “Do it again, so I can watch.”

With a cagey sort of expression, Trevelyan picked up the deck and shuffled. Bond slapped a hand down on the desk, saying, “Oh, how is _that_ fair? You count cards, bloody bastard.”

Trevelyan grinned. “So do you!”

“Then give me half the deck so I can stack it, too.”

“For God’s sake, hand it over.” Q held out his hand feeling exactly like a schoolmarm. When Trevelyan gave the deck to him, he turned his back and shuffled. Then he set the deck in the centre of the desk between the two of them and said, “Alternate, one at a time, and don’t touch anything but the card on top.”

Naturally they both reached for it. Bond conceded with a smirk and a gesture, and Trevelyan picked up the top card.

“Green square,” Bond said as soon as Trevelyan glanced at it.

Trevelyan tossed it face-up onto the desk. “Right.” When Bond picked up the next card and looked at it, Trevelyan said, “Yellow circle.”

“Good guess.” Bond set it down, turned to show the yellow circle.

And for the next dozen cards, they both got every one right, though they treated it like a game, full of laughter and accusations of cheating. Bond even went so far as to pause to look behind him to find out which screen was acting as a faint mirror so Trevelyan could see the cards.

“How are you doing it?” Q couldn’t hide the wonder in his voice. He’d been watching closely for any sorts of signals they might be giving each other, either visual or auditory, and they couldn’t touch under the desk because of its back panel. “Tell me. I won’t be cross.”

“We’re not,” Trevelyan said with an uncaring shrug. And though Bond was frowning, as if trying to puzzle it out himself, he nodded in agreement.

“How’s it different than when I held them?” Q picked up the top card and held it up. “Both of you, guess.” It was a red cross.

“Blue star,” Bond said as Trevelyan said, “The squiggles.”

Q dropped the card face-up onto the desk. “How does it work between you? What’s different?”

Bond and Trevelyan looked at each other. Then Trevelyan shrugged and turned back to Q, saying, “You don’t like us. _We_ like us.”

Bond rolled his eyes. “Or we’ve worked together for half our lives.”

“Which would’ve been difficult if we didn’t _like_ each other,” Trevelyan declared with a triumphant grin.

“Working together for a long time and being this locked in are two different things, Bond. Couples who have been married that long can’t do what you just did.” Q countered.

“Why on _earth_ would I marry him?” Bond asked, gesturing at Trevelyan.

“Oi! Only one of us doesn’t steal the blankets, and that’s me,” Trevelyan protested.

“I can’t let you within a metre of the stove without something catching fire.”

“I’m _good_ at fire.”

“Stop. You already _are_ married; listen to yourselves.” Q turned to Trevelyan and added, “And you can’t seriously think that if I told you I liked you, you’d do better at this test with me.”

“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t give it a try,” Trevelyan said slyly. “Maybe after dinner tonight?”

“You’re incorrigible.” Q knew he was blushing, but the flirtation caught him off guard for once because he was so excited about the agents’ connection. “But what if I admit to liking you right now so I can finish testing you?”

“So you _do_ like us,” Bond said, grinning. “I thought you did.”

“Of course I like you. You’re both amusing and ridiculous and beautiful” — Q stuttered at that last, and inadvertent, admission — “and damned good agents when you put the effort in.” He held up another card as a diversionary tactic. It was the squiggles.

“Green square,” Bond said, while Trevelyan guessed — _obviously_ — “Those bloody squiggles.”

Q set the card face down on the desk and picked up his notepad. Then he waved Bond out of his chair to sit down. It made no bloody sense. At least not _logical_ sense. He needed to think hard about this, especially how to use their connection in the field. And he needed time and quiet to do so. What he definitely _didn’t_ need to think about was going to dinner with them. Or whatever might come after. “Thank you, agents. We’re done here.”

“Good. So where are we going for dinner?” Trevelyan asked, tenacious as a badger.

“Goodman?” Bond suggested. Then he turned to Q and asked, “What do you like?”

“To be left alone for an hour.” Q didn’t look away from his computer. It was still on the login screen, but he wouldn’t start typing until they left. “Go get some reading done.”

“Goodman it is,” Bond said as he rose. “I’ll make reservations. Six o’clock, or did you want to go home and change into something more formal?”

“I don’t have anything more formal, Bond. Leave me alone and let me work.” Q’s voice had no heat in it; no strength, either. He shouldn’t have said anything when he knew better than to invite their attention. He had a mountain of work to get through, not to mention this new problem of what to do with his only-psychic-with-each-other agents. And they were only going to treat him like a game, just as they had at breakfast — trying to tease information out of him. No matter how much he enjoyed their company — and their attention — he just didn’t have time for all of that.

 

~~~

 

“So, _that’s_ clear,” Alec said as he sat down behind one of the two desks in their new office.

“Which part?” James was back to frowning, but Alec had no idea at what. There were too many possibilities.

“He’s not interested.”

James only grunted in answer. He took off his jacket so he could drape it over the back of his chair, then sat down. Absently, he reached for the laptop on his otherwise bare desk, but he didn’t open it.

Alec hid a sigh. Since Mansfield’s death, James had become more morose, probably obsessed with his own mortality and failures, never a good thing in a field agent. They’d already beaten the odds beyond all expectations simply by living this long. Hell, Alec couldn’t even remember how many names they’d seen chiselled onto the memorial wall — names of the other Double O’s who’d fallen in the line of duty. All of them had been more recent recruits than James and Alec.

“Should we test this psychic thing some more?” he suggested without much hope. _That_ was a useful discovery — or it could be, if they could use it for something other than guessing at cards. Though if it would cheer up James, Alec would drag himself to a casino for a night or two.

James glanced over at Alec. “I think we established that _something’s_ going on. That’s good enough.”

This time, Alec did sigh. “Right. Are _we_ still going out to dinner?” he asked, pushing his chair back so he could stand.

That got him a frown and an absent, “What?”

Alec stared at James, wishing this psychic thing between them — if it existed — would let him read thoughts and not just see stupid shapes on cards. It took him far too long to put together the only logical explanation for James’ mood: He really did _like_ Q. Possibly as much as he’d liked that gangster’s eccentric daughter a few years back.

This was James _moping_.

“Right. I’m going home to change,” Alec said, unable to stomach that sort of thing. Not that he didn’t care; he just had no idea what to do about it, and he didn’t like problems that he couldn’t fix.

“We’re not —”

“Yes, we are. You offered dinner, and we’re going,” Alec said firmly. After a moment’s thought, he decided that going to Goodman would just remind James that Q wasn’t there with them. “Roka. I’m in the mood for Japanese.”

James shot him a suspicious look.

“Six. Don’t be late,” Alec warned as he left the office. He glanced through the windows into Q’s office and saw the Quartermaster frowning at his computer screen, chewing on his thumbnail. Alec was tempted to say something — maybe to suggest Q keep his distance for a little while — but that could backfire if James decided Alec was butting in where he didn’t belong.

Instead, Alec swiped up his leather jacket and left, wishing it were Friday instead of Tuesday. Friday would give him a whole weekend to get James’ mind off the Quartermaster.


	7. Chapter 7

It had been an hour — more, actually — and Q had been able to shut the Double O duo out of his thoughts for almost the entire time. It had let him catch up on surveillance, even do some scrying, and ring up Q Branch to make sure things were running smoothly. It was a drop in the bucket compared with what still needed to be done, but it helped Q find his equilibrium. He still had no idea what to do with the Chaos Twins — during work hours or after — but he didn’t feel in over his head anymore.

He got up and went to peek in their office. Trevelyan was nowhere to be found, and Bond was staring at his computer screen, almost idly tapping a finger on the touchpad. Q pushed open the door and leaned against the frame. He felt the need to extend an olive branch after his dismissal earlier. “I was thinking about dinner.”

Suspicion flickered across Bond’s expression before he smiled. Blandly. “Oh?”

“I’ve got loads of work to do, and I haven’t been up to Q Branch since early this morning, so I can’t go out.” Q pushed his glasses up with a knuckle and tried to gauge Bond’s mood — never an easy thing with a Double O agent who was playing it close to the chest. It was unnerving. “But if you know of any good takeaway around...”

“I have a list of reliable delivery restaurants somewhere in my email. I’ll forward it to you,” Bond offered politely.

“Right.” Q couldn’t tell if Bond was punishing him for the earlier rebuff or if Bond had only been playing at seduction and the game was off when his partner in crime wasn’t around. Or maybe it was just Trevelyan who wanted something and Bond was simply the wingman. “You already have plans. I get it.” He nodded and swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat, then started to back out of the room.

“Yes, Alec’s decided he wants sushi.” Bond rose and buttoned his jacket. “Did you need us for anything else today?”

“I...” Q had no excuses to keep him there. And he had no right make Bond late for a date with his other half. Bond’s question was a polite way of asking to leave, no more. “No, I suppose not. Though it’s been nice to have company.” He tried to smile, but it probably came out more of a wince.

Bond favoured him with another of those polite, professional, emotionless smiles. It cut deep. “Tomorrow morning, then?”

“I’ll be here...” Q backed out of the office and turned towards his, not wanting to see Bond leave. “Thanks for your work today.”

Bond nodded and took his MI6-issued mobile from his pocket. “I’ll send you that list,” he said, absently swiping at the phone as he headed across the reading room towards the main exit.

“No need.” Q had lost his appetite, and he had no idea when it would come back.

Bond paused, giving Q a faintly puzzled frown over one shoulder. Then, with another nod, he pocketed the phone. “Good night then, Quartermaster,” he said, pulling open the corridor door.

“James...” Bond stopped at Q’s word, but Q couldn’t think of a damned thing to say to make him stay. Not anything that would be workplace appropriate. “Have a nice time with 006.”

Silently, with another polite smile and nod, Bond turned away and left.

Q slumped against his office door, defeated. He hadn’t actually wanted the invitation to dinner until it had been taken away. Nor had he realised how much he’d enjoyed Bond’s attention until it was purely polite and distant. It _had_ to be something to do with Trevelyan’s absence. Maybe their libidos were only activated when they were together. Or maybe it really was only 006 who wanted him — after all, he was the more forceful and direct in his flirtation.

Q tried to not think about any of it and go back to his work, but he realised it would take a change of venue to get his agents out of his head. Time to head up to Q Branch and see what he’d missed. And definitely _not_ try to deduce which Japanese restaurant the Chaos Twins would eat at tonight.

 

~~~

 

To Q’s dismay, Bond’s polite professionalism extended to Trevelyan as well. For the rest of the week, Q found himself in possession of the most efficient, hard-working agents imaginable. Not one innuendo. Not a hint of flirtation or even interest. Just diligent study of the new threats the agents would face, more than enough time on the firing range and at the gym, and the most boring three days imaginable. He’d braced himself for a nonstop onslaught from the agents, expecting that the three of them would find some sort of balance between flirtation and scolding, so when it just stopped, he was left reeling.

Danielle actually _praised_ the agents. “Well done, bringing them in line, Quartermaster,” she had said after Bond and Trevelyan left on Friday evening.

He’d never had a success be so depressing.

By the middle of the next week, Q had resigned himself to having all the time he needed to get work done, with polite, distant co-workers that made him feel more lonely than he ever had in MI13.

And then, when he opened his email that Wednesday morning, he found he was put in the awkward position of needing to send his new agents on assignment, whether they were ready or not.

_My dear Q,_

_I apologise for the late notice, but I find myself in need of your services this evening. My customary entourage is unavailable for tonight’s Brits. After last summer’s incident, I find myself reluctant to go out unescorted._

_I would be delighted if you could be my guest, but I know of your reluctance to step into the spotlight. If you still prefer to dwell in the shadows, could you suggest an alternative?_

_Gratefully yours,_

_— A.L.A._

“A.L.A.”, or Laurie as Q knew her, was a fantastically talented and successful singer, one of a large family of shifters who had maintained a cordial relationship with MI13 since its inception. Her fame was accidental and carefully managed. With a shifter’s extended lifespan, she would have to disappear in a few years, returning to obscurity under a new identity.

If Q had been at his best, he would have noticed a week ago that the BRIT awards fell on a full moon this year, and would have prepared for it. Instead, he had to call his agents into his office first thing.

With little to divert them other than study, they showed up in his doorway just seconds later. “What did you need, Quartermaster?” Bond asked.

“You have an assignment — both of you. For tonight.”  Q beckoned them to sit, now he’d borrowed a second guest chair from the break room. “Bodyguards, of a sort.”

“Is this an MI6 assignment?” Bond asked.

Not quite quietly enough, Trevelyan muttered, “Escorting some stroppy accounting executive to some horribly boring dinner party.”

Q shook his head. “No. A certain shifter of my acquaintance needs to be accompanied to the Brits.” He pushed up his glasses and looked sternly at them. “It’s the full moon, and she’s _very_ high profile, so I need you on your best behaviour.”

“A shifter, out tonight?” Trevelyan asked. “What’s she going to do? Eat the competition?”

“The _Daily Mail_ will be there. They’d love that,” Bond said dryly.

Q took a breath and reminded himself that they were still very new at this. “She’s very good at controlling the shift, but there will be a red carpet and reporters and cameras — all of it. There are always hunters out and about on full moon night. If one realises what she is, they might try to corner her and provoke an attack. Possibly in public.”

Bond’s eyes narrowed. “In public?”

Q nodded. “There’s a radical faction of hunters that wants the public to know the truth. The Brits would be the perfect venue for such an exposure.”

“Subtle, then,” Bond said, glancing at Trevelyan, who grinned back at him. Unsubtly.

“What’s our cover?” Trevelyan asked.

Q opened his mouth, then hesitated, reviewing the email. Was she asking for bodyguards or a _date?_ Having a bodyguard at her side would be safer... “One of you is her date; the other, her bodyguard. Flip a coin or fight out who gets which role.”

Instead of one of them pouncing on the ‘date’ role, the two exchanged another look, making Q wonder if they’d gone from card reading to full-blown psychic communication. “Right, then,” Trevelyan said, and they both turned back to Q. “Kit? We’ll need earwigs, if nothing else.”

“Of course. And sidearms. If she’s attacked, you shoot to kill. Hunters are very dangerous. In the unlikely event that she shifts, you’ll have to incapacitate her, so you’ll need silver — the full range of gear. Bullets, knives, restraints...” Q trailed off, then picked up again to ask, “Have you ever worked a mission where the asset has turned into a target? No, not a target — a threat to be contained.”

They exchanged another look, and Bond said, “The full moon.” When Trevelyan shrugged, Bond turned back to Q and said, “Not an issue.”

“Your primary objective is to maintain absolute secrecy. Your secondary objective is to keep her safe. If she comes under threat, terminate that threat. And if necessary — if _she_ becomes a threat — contain her and exfiltrate her here. We have secure facilities where we can hold her until moonset.” Q turned back to his computer screen for a second, then added, “Oh yes, and she shifts into a fox.”

“A fox?” Bond asked, startled.

“That’s adorable,” Trevelyan approved. When Bond shot him a questioning look, Trevelyan shrugged. “I like foxes.”

“She’s gorgeous. And ferocious. I’ve seen her only once when shifted, and it was awe-inspiring, but very dangerous.” Q spoke seriously, hoping they would treat the mission equally seriously. Were they anywhere close to ready for this assignment?

Unruffled by that, Bond asked, “Our kit, then?”

Short of telling his friend that he couldn’t help, Q had no other options. He could only hope the Chaos Twins were as psychologically fit for this sort of situation as Tanner seemed to think they were. “Right. Come with me.”

 

~~~

 

“James Bond, Ms Adkins. And my partner, Alec Trevelyan.” The comms monitoring headset carried Bond’s voice to Q’s ears all too perfectly. “Q sent us.”

“Please, call me Laurie,” she answered in her rich voice. “And how is dear Q?”

“Well. He sends his regards,” Trevelyan lied charmingly. Q rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair, wondering if he was going to have to listen to them being _charming_ all night.

Their earwigs caught her sigh, giving it a strangely echoing quality. “I did so wish he’d be willing to step out with me tonight, but he’s always been such a recluse.”

One of them hummed too quickly for Q to glance at the monitor to see which one’s earwig had been activated. Then Bond said, “You have us instead, Laurie.”

“For as long as you’d like,” Trevelyan added.

Q rolled his eyes.

“Well, then. If I steal you two away from Q, will that draw him out of his cave?” Laurie asked slyly.

“Yes,” Q said into the empty room, then checked for the fifth time that his headset mic was off. A hint of jealousy crept into him at Laurie’s suggestion. He found it sweet that she sincerely missed seeing him, but she had a magnetism all her own and he’d worked too hard to get his agents just to sit back and let her take them from him.

“Even if it didn’t, you’d have us,” Bond said, his voice low and full of interest.

Laurie laughed brightly. “Oh, I _like_ you two.”

“That’s good. We’re something of a matched set,” Trevelyan said, equally interested.

Well that was just perfect. She didn’t even have to take them — they’d go willingly. Heat crawled up Q’s neck, and he considered turning off the audio for a bit so he wouldn’t end up seething with rage and be tempted to cast a long-distance spell on one or more of the three of them.

But he wasn’t going to give up without a fight, so he forced himself to listen as the three of them chatted. Apparently Bond had driven his Jaguar, and Laurie was more than willing to forego a formal limousine.

“What about you, Alec?” she asked with a sort of warm familiarity that even Q couldn’t claim. _He_ didn’t call his agents by their first name.

“I’ll be right behind you. Don’t you worry,” Trevelyan promised.

“But it’s a closed event,” she protested. “How will you get in?”

In answer, Q’s two charming bastards just laughed. He wouldn’t put it past them to have used their contacts to acquire legitimate invitations to the awards ceremony.

After an interminably long ten minutes of flirtation, he heard the quality of the audio change, as if they were outdoors. Then, clearly, Trevelyan said, “Going dark, Q. Earwigs and helmets don’t mix.”

Q switched his mic on to confirm, then realised what 006 meant. “You’re not taking your motorcycle. How is that subtle?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not subtle. It’s a classic,” Trevelyan protested. “I’ll check back when I’m inside. 006 out.”

There was no point in protesting. Q was tempted to rest his head on his desk, and it wasn’t even seven o’clock. He made sure Bond’s earwig was still on, and said, “Primary objective.”

Bond didn’t answer until Q heard the slam of a closing car door. “Secure, in transit.”

The best option would be to abort the mission right now and apologise to Laurie profusely — in person if necessary. But that was impossible. Instead Q was going to have a headache in the morning from banging his forehead against his desk all night. “Confirmed. Please, 007, remember there is such a thing as subtlety, since your partner has clearly forgotten. I would prefer to not have to chain you to your desks when you return from this mission.”

“You sent the restraints with us, Quartermaster,” Bond answered, a hint of his old humour in his voice.

“Cast iron manacles, Bond. Don’t quibble with me about what’s in my armoury.” The hint of menace in Q’s voice was belied by his audible smile. This was a bad idea, and he knew it, but it kept him from grinding his teeth hard enough they creaked.

Bond laughed. “We pick locks. Now do be quiet, Quartermaster. I have a lady to attend.” His tone became warmer as he asked, “Straight to the venue, or shall we take the scenic route?”

Q switched off his mic and turned down the volume on his headset. Not all the way, but enough to not have Bond’s warm voice so close in his ear when it was directed at someone else. He wasn’t going to start hating Laurie — she was one of the handful of people he respected in the world — but tonight was going to be an unexpected challenge, and he was glad he didn’t have to interact with her in any way.

 

~~~

 

“Anything interesting back there?” Alec asked in a quiet voice as he wandered through the crowd. His path was meant to look aimless, but it would let him get a closer look at as many people as possible — at least out here in the open. There were too many people off in the wings, backstage, and lurking about in the upper offices for his liking.

“Too many bloody cameras,” James replied equally quietly. “She’s calm, though. Very much in her element.”

“Explain again why you’ve got the date and I’m going stag?”

James laughed. “I think she was more disappointed than you.”

“Are we taking her home and then _staying_ there tonight?” Alec asked, intrigued by the thought. He and James shared women far more often than men, but that didn’t mean they were bored of women. Not at all.

“ _Bogsworth’s Guide_ warned even the most controlled shifter can be unpredictable under the full moon,” James pointed out, though he didn’t sound particularly worried. Alec had to agree. There was little he and James couldn’t handle together.

Alec covered his grin by taking a sip of champagne, though he hated the stuff. “We do have those restraints,” he said softly, scanning the crowd, though now he was hoping he didn’t spot a threat. Surely they’d hold Laurie without a problem. The silver-plated cuffs Q had issued them were solidly made, and Alec hadn’t been able to pick the locks in under five minutes even at the comfort of his own desk, with nothing to distract him.

“Is _that_ what you’re thinking for tonight?”

“Any reason I shouldn’t be?”

“In that case, perhaps we’ll take a rain check with Laurie. Say, in a week, once it’s safer?”

Alec laughed. “Since when do we care about ‘safer’?”

“Since we got those bloody restraints.”

“Oh. Well, then,” Alec said, permitting himself a few seconds to imagine James picking those locks. While sufficiently distracted.

“If I _ever_ catch either of you using MI13 equipment for recreational purposes, I’ll have your heads. Both of them.” The voice was coldly furious and very much _not_ James.

Alec had to take another sip to cover his amused grin. “Hello, Quartermaster. How’s your evening?” he asked once he wasn’t about to break down with laughter.

“Maddening. I knew it was a wretched idea to let you two off the lead so soon.”

“Oh, do we get a lead and collar as well? That wasn’t part of our kit,” Alec said, putting as much disappointment into his voice as he could manage.

James, for his part, barked out a sharp laugh before muting his audio pickup.

It took a good fifteen seconds for any response to come. Not because Q had muted his mic, but because, Alec assumed, he wanted them to feel the full extent of his silent disappointment. “Don’t try me, agent. I’ve taken in hand far greater challenges than you.”

“Never a Double O. We would know if you had,” James pointed out logically.

“And you _were_ eavesdropping,” Alec added. “You can hardly blame us for what you might overhear like that.”

“It’s my sodding _job_ to monitor comms, 006. Believe me, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t.” Q suddenly sounded weary.

“M once tried the old ‘monitoring comms’ excuse,” James said thoughtfully.

Alec snickered. “ _Only_ once, though.”

“Well, yes. Farmed it out to Tanner after that.”

“And yet, he’s still boring.”

“We could send transcripts to his wife. Give her ideas.”

“What on earth do you _do_ on comms... never mind. I don’t want to know,” Q said.

“It’s _your_ fault, Quartermaster,” James said innocently. “If you hadn’t made these new earwigs so comfortable, we wouldn’t keep forgetting we had them in.”

“Right. ‘Forgetting’. Both of you are bloody menaces. Stop blaming _my_ tech for _your_ exhibitionist kink.” The snark was back in Q’s voice, though there was a thread of anger as well.

“Would you say it’s a kink?” James asked.

“More a personality trait,” Alec said thoughtfully. “Half our bloody lives are conducted under surveillance.”

“So it could even be a _survival_ trait. There, Quartermaster. It makes us better at what we do.”

“Good try, but I’m not buying it. And speaking of, are you paying _any_ attention to what you’re supposed to be doing right now?”

“No, Quartermaster,” Alec snapped back, fighting to keep his voice soft so he didn’t draw attention. “We’re amateur hacks at this. Completely forgot —”

“Alec,” James cut in quietly.

Alec clenched his jaw and took a deep breath.

After a short pause, Q’s voice came on, the quintessence of calm and orderly. “My apologies. Comms are to be used for important communications only. I shouldn’t have spoken up at all. Q out.”

For a few minutes — long enough for Alec to make his way to the bar and switch out the champagne for a shot of excellent quality vodka — the comms remained silent. Then, in an absolutely neutral tone of voice, James asked, “Want to take backstage for a bit?” Professional as it was, Alec knew it was meant to be comforting.

“That’s all right.” He put the glass down and went back to surveying the crowd. As he did, he took his personal mobile from his pocket and typed out a quick text: _We’re going to have to do something about him before he makes our lives hell._

 _We’ll manage,_ James responded. And then, a minute later, he added, _We always do._

 

~~~

 

Q spent the next ten minutes with his forehead resting on his desk, deeply upset by the silence on comms. He’d buggered up that entire interaction and felt sick about it. He knew better than to engage in idle conversation with agents like that, but he’d been seduced by wanting to quash their truly inappropriate talk. And, if he was being honest with himself, he’d wanted to have at least a modicum of their flirtatious banter directed at him. He hadn’t realised how much he craved it until he’d had to hear it all night.

And now, of course, he’d inadvertently become the director with a pole up his arse who couldn’t handle a little joking around and questioned his agents’ effectiveness in the field. It was so far from the truth he could have cried. _He_ was the one who had lost track of what they were doing with all the banter flying, and he’d projected his distraction onto them. And, rightfully, they had taken offence. Well, Alec had, at least. Q wondered if he shouldn’t write an apology.

He toyed with the idea while trying to concentrate on his own work and listening only intermittently to comms for the rest of the night. Just before dawn, when he’d finally talked himself out of it, he heard his email notification ping and opened it.

_My dear Q,_

_Thank you ever so much for sending Alec and James to escort me tonight. You must tell me where you find such charming men._

_I hope you enjoyed your evening as much as I did. Please promise me we’ll meet soon, perhaps for dinner._

_Fondly,_

_— A.L.A._

Q didn’t have the heart to answer her. Or the energy. The knowledge that the mission was complete allowed him the luxury of feeling how tired he was. Maybe he could get a few hours sleep before heading upstairs to MI6 for the rest of the morning. If only he could allow himself the time to truly shut off his brain and rest for once, then maybe this whole situation would be easier to take.


	8. Chapter 8

“This is a ridiculous idea,” Alec said for what had to be the fifth time since they’d parked in the lowest level of the MI6 car park. “Who the bloody hell cares about checking in our kit?”

James’ answer cut off in a rush of breath as Alec gave him a shove against the back wall of the secure entryway. As the overhead sprinklers started to spray a light mist through the room, Alec nudged James’ head back and bit his bared throat, above his shirt collar. Cold seeped through from Alec’s rain-wet dinner suit to James’ dry one.

“Check in our kit. Leave a note. Early weekend,” James said, tugging on Alec’s hair to pull him away. Alec’s green eyes blazed in irritation, and he tossed his head to pull free, then bit again.

Not that James could blame him. The awards ceremony had been ten times more dull in person than on telly, without convenient commercials to break up the tedium, but the after-party... Laurie had insisted on having them both as her escorts, and she’d encouraged the sort of unrestrained flirting that had James and Alec both go comms-dark. Alec had been determined not to let Q ruin their fun. James, a bit less casually, had agreed that Q had no need to listen in on a perfectly safe, dimly lit, noisy nightclub party.

It had been bloody tempting to push their luck just a bit and take Laurie to bed with them, but she’d warned them off — with a gratifying note of reluctance in her voice. “Ask me again, when the moon is dark,” she’d invited as she’d given James a kiss on the cheek, then Alec. They probably would, too. Q hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said she was gorgeous.

Once the mist cleared, they opened the portal in the wall and made their slow, somewhat distracted way down the corridor. Alec had rid himself of his bow tie and undone his top button. Only luck had kept him from getting rid of the top shirt stud as well — which was why these shirt studs were plain black onyx and nothing fancy, just like his cufflinks. Alec really was hell on dress clothes.

Somewhere along the hallway, Alec paused in his sharp, tingling bites to say, “Not all the kit.”

“What?” James asked, distracted by the thought of getting Alec out of his dinner suit now as opposed to later. They had tracksuits up in the MI6 locker room, along with spare shirts and trousers. And the thought of fucking — or being fucked — in one of those comfortable leather armchairs was bloody appealing.

“The restraints.”

James closed his eyes, a little shiver crawling down his spine, though not in a bad way. Not at all. They’d accidentally discovered a mutual liking for bondage years ago while practicing lockpicking. And as it turned out, James _loved_ the idea of being helpless for someone he could trust with his life — and had done, more than once.

And after the Silva incident, he’d wondered briefly if the Quartermaster —

 _Or not,_ James reminded himself, pushing the thought out of his head. They were going to be professional about this, and that was it. Full stop.

Though not _too_ professional. “All right,” he said, giving Alec a push to the other side of the hall. Their kiss was messy and hot with the memory of Laurie’s flirtation, and it left them both panting for breath when it finally ended. James met Alec’s eyes and smirked. “Not all the kit.”

Alec grinned like a shark. “Good,” he said, nudging James towards the doors to the reading room. James opened the door and headed right for their office, too distracted to even glance around. Alec’s presence at his back seemed to burn through the air. James was inches from suggesting they start the evening on — or over — one of their desks, but the threat of being dismissed from MI13 did what M herself had never accomplished: It tamed him.

So he stayed quiet long enough for Alec to pack away their issued kit, minus one pair of restraints. While Alec sorted the unused rounds back into a lockable ammunition box, James wrote a quick email to Q explaining that their late night meant they’d be coming in late on Thursday — today — if at all, and if not, they’d see him on Friday.

That done, he followed Alec to the sadly empty armoury cupboard in their office, waited for Alec to stow their kit and lock it away, and then flattened Alec against the wall for another fiercely hot kiss. This was just what James needed to assure him that all was right with the world, even if that world had expanded to include were-foxes — and to _not_ include a possible Quartermaster in their future.

Of course, his infatuation with Q had been ridiculous from the very start. Q was half his age if that, an executive twice over, and, well, from another world. And as fun as Q might be for a shag or two, James didn’t _need_ him. He and Alec had each other, and that was all that either of them needed. They were both better off without Q to complicate matters unnecessarily.

James’ laptop, still open from sending the email, let out a quiet notification chime. He’d disabled notifications of emails sent to distribution lists, which meant it was specifically addressed to him. “One moment,” he told Alec, who let out a frustrated huff but didn’t protest.

_007 [cc: 006]_

_Thank you for the note and for returning the kit promptly._

_If I don’t see you today, I’ll expect extra diligence at your studies on Friday._

_And please put the restraints back in with the rest of the kit, as I’d like to not have to call them home myself. It’s been a long night, and the spell is complex._

_Thank you for your more than professional work tonight._

_Do get home safe, and try to get some sleep at some point._

_— Q_

The email hit like a bucket of ice, leaving James tired, frustrated, and irrationally angry. “Bugger,” he snapped, turning back to Alec, whose expression had gone wary.

A moment later, Alec sighed and took the silver-covered restraints from the back of his belt. He tossed them into the cupboard, then slammed the door. “Anything else _he_ wants?” he asked in an irritated growl.

James considered mentioning the ‘extra diligence’ line, but he was certain that wouldn’t help the night’s already-ruined mood. Instead, he shook his head and stalked for the office door, focusing on the comfort of a hot shower and an expensive mattress. “Let’s go home.”

 

~~~

 

Alec didn’t mind the occasional day off. James, though, tended to get restless if he went too long between missions, and Wednesday night’s bodyguarding job hardly counted. Alec had no idea what had happened after their mission — he didn’t bother checking his email on his days off — but James was in a foul mood for almost all of Thursday, leaving Alec wondering if he couldn’t find a mission — _any_ mission — to get one or both of them out of the country.

So Friday morning, he felt vaguely optimistic. If MI13 didn’t have anything, he’d damned well go back up to MI6 and manufacture a mission if necessary. He was more than capable of faking a threat to national security that would require him and James to leave the country for six or eight weeks. Hopefully, that’d be long enough for James to get over his moping about Q’s rejection.

While Alec was still debating a trip to the break room to see if there was any decent coffee, James had already sat down at his laptop to check email. “We have a meeting request,” he said, leaning back to look over at Alec.

 _Shit,_ Alec thought, though he didn’t say it out loud. There was an outside chance that it would be a mission, after all. More likely, though, Q wanted to bitch at them for something else.

So instead of sitting down, Alec dropped his leather jacket over his chair — he, at least, was still adhering to an informal dress code — and followed James out into the reading room and over to Q’s office.

When James knocked, Q turned away from his monitors and blinked at them, then adjusted his glasses on his face and gestured to the chairs. “I trust you had a restful day off?” His voice was pleasantly neutral, not in any way showing resentment of their unscheduled holiday. Alec was tempted to snap at him anyway but decided against it. No point in making things any more tense.

 _Professionalism,_ he reminded himself wryly as he sat down next to James.

“Well enough,” James said smoothly, with less tension in his voice than Alec had expected. Maybe he was finally getting over his unrequited crush on Q. About fucking time.

“Good. I wanted to...” Q looked down at his desk and folded his hands on top of it. “I apologise for how I acted over comms. You both know your jobs well, and I know that. To be truthful, _I_ was the one who was both distracted and distracting. Laurie had nothing but good things to say about you both, which I very much appreciate.” He looked up at them with a worried frown, though he couldn’t maintain eye contact with Alec for more than a couple seconds. He turned instead to James, as if that were somehow safer.

“Thank you.” After a moment’s pause, James added, “It was kind of her to say so.”

Q looked back at Alec, a hint of sheepishness in his expression. “I never meant to imply you were anything but the most effective agents we have. I’m aware of how lucky I am to have you two.”

A little of Alec’s tension eased. “Our MI6 handlers learned not to interfere with our missions,” he said as diplomatically as he could. It wasn’t the sharp _back the fuck off_ that it might have been, if not for Q’s sincerity.

Q still sat back abruptly as if slapped. There was a pause before he spoke, his voice quiet but calm and in control. “I’m sorry, but we’ll rarely have that luxury here, and it’s wholly dependent upon which threats we’re facing. And I certainly can’t leave you alone before you’re fully trained to know what you’re up against.”

“If you want to listen in, fine. But we had the situation under control, despite whatever you think we were doing,” Alec said bluntly. Q’s interference had been anything but mission-critical. Alec knew damned well that his banter with James had zero effect on their efficiency in the field. Until Q understood that, they were going to have problems.

“Alec...” James warned quietly — a reminder that they were dealing with their boss now, and this wasn’t worth getting sacked over.

“Look, I understand you two have a certain way of interacting, and I’m not trying to horn in on it or quash it. But if you think all I was there for last night was to listen to you flirt with everyone within earshot besides me, you have _no_ idea what this job entails or why _I’m_ the one running your missions.” He waved a hand in a somewhat grand gesture that took in the bowl of water on its pedestal and the giant wall mirror, as well as the bank of monitors on the back wall. “What do you think all this is for?”

Alec frowned — as did James, but he made the effort to hide it better. Calmly, James asked, “Why don’t you tell us?”

“It’s to keep an eye on as many things as possible. While you were keeping watch in person, I was using every available technology — wirelessly accessible cameras, satellite feeds, scrying, and farseeing — to identify and deter any unseen threats.” Q looked directly at Alec, his face mild, his voice matter-of-fact. “So, yes. _We_ had the situation under control last night. The three of us.”

Alec refrained from glancing at James only because they’d need to think long and hard about this new development. It was one thing to have a voice guiding them using live camera feeds, usually for only brief phases of missions. But something like farseeing, if it actually was what it sounded like, could be bloody useful, especially if it wasn’t limited to active cameras that Q Branch could easily hijack.

“Far more useful than being limited to stealing camera feeds,” James said. Alec couldn’t help but wonder if it was the result of a ‘psychic’ moment or if they’d just been trained to think the same way. Maybe both.

“You said ‘deter threats,’ too. How?” Alec asked, figuring that would be James’ next question.

“Obfuscation spells, subtle psychic obstacles, red herrings, if necessary...” He looked past them towards the doors to the reading room. “Yes, there _are_ multiple books on the sorcery shelves that I could point you to, if you’re interested.”

Odd phrasing. Was he anticipating their questions now? It was a little disconcerting to think of someone else sharing their... their what? Their psychic link? Their connection?

James was the one who spoke up, saying, “That could prove very useful. You didn’t mention that you could... _do things_.”

“He opened the doors,” Alec pointed out.

James smirked at him. “So did you.”

“I made that spell as user-friendly as I could, but yes. I’m glad you figured it out.” Q gave Alec a small, soft smile. “James, have you tried?”

“ _Somebody_ hasn’t given me the chance,” James said, glancing sidelong at Alec, who huffed.

“ _Somebody’s_ too bloody slow,” Alec countered.

“Well, I don’t have to worry that you _can’t,_ since he can.” Q nodded at Alec, then looked back at James. “And you two are clearly linked somehow.”

Alec hesitated, not sure how much they wanted to reveal, but despite everything that happened, James spoke up at once, saying, “We’ve been working on that. Trying to see what else we can share.”

“Oh?” Q looked from one to the other of them with nothing more than a mildly curious expression, but his hands flattened out on the desk and grabbed hold of the edge. “Anything interesting?”

Other than the fact that Q wasn’t _demanding_ to know more? Or telling them to stop with their experimenting? Alec hid a smile, glancing at James, wondering just how much he’d be willing to reveal.

“Nothing particularly useful as of yet,” James said with a little shrug. “It seems to require concentration, quiet, and proximity.”

“Probably why we’d never noticed it before,” Alec added with a shrug of his own.

Q smiled at that, a slight twinkle in his eye, but all he said was, “Keep practicing. I’d love to hear about what you find.”

Alec snorted. The last time he and James had tried practicing, it had involved what they’d each wanted the other to do next. In bed.

James smiled politely. “When we discover anything useful, we’ll let you know.”

“Good. Now, tell me about your studies. Have each of you found an area you’re most interested in pursuing?” Q leaned forward over the desk, resting on his elbows.

“Everything,” Alec said bluntly.

A bit more diplomatically, James explained, “Specialization gets agents killed.”

“Yes, but there’s a _lot_ to learn. And you work together so seamlessly, it might help to start out learning different things and catch each other up until you can both get through everything,” Q said.

Alec glanced at James, who gave a slight nod. Dividing the work would be easy enough, since they’d get around to all of it eventually. Still, Alec couldn’t help but add, “It’d be easier if we could bring some of this home with us.”

“That’s MI13 protocol and a set-spell that was cast before my time. But if you’re actually willing to take work home and be _careful_ with them, I can lift it for one book at a time.” Q sat up straighter and winced as if a muscle twinged in his back. “I want you safe. And that means you must study.”

“We’ll give you a list,” Alec said before James could do something stupid, like say it wasn’t necessary. He grinned in a way vaguely meant to be reassuring, though it probably wasn’t. “But we’ll need a few at a time, if you want us to diversify and not share the same book.”

“One each. No more. It’ll ensure that you actually _read_ the ones you take with you.” Q quirked an eyebrow. “Remember, I could make you stay the night here, instead.”

“Or you could give us a pass of some sort, so we can switch out books without having to pester you,” Alec suggested. With a security bypass device, he could have half the bloody library emptied between when Q went home and when he came back in the next morning — the whole library if Alec worked through the weekend.

Q’s eyes brightened, but he pulled his lips tightly together to keep from actually smiling. “No. I’m almost always here — in the building — and I can do the spellcasting from a distance, if necessary. And I reserve the right to call any book home at any time.”

Refusing to admit defeat, Alec just nodded. James hid a smile of his own and said, “We’ll get started on that, shall we?”

“Right here, yes. It’s more efficient to study where I can answer any questions you might have.” Q nodded, then turned back to his computer screen, giving them his profile. “Thank you, agents. In case I haven’t said it before, I do look forward to working with you.”

As dismissals went, it was definitely on the polite end of the scale. Alec and James rose — James fussing with his suit jacket, as always — and gave Q brief nods. Then they _didn’t_ race for the reading room, though somehow Alec made it through the double doors first and beelined right for the section on sorcery. James could have all the monsters and beasties he wanted. Alec was going to learn how to set fires the proper way: with magic.

 

~~~

 

Friday afternoons at MI6 were either calm, relaxed times to reflect on the past week and prepare for the week ahead or times of screaming panic, depending on what the fortune tellers in Intentions & Analysis had gleaned from a week’s worth of electronic eavesdropping. This week, the threat level wasn’t bumped up to _Everything Is Horrible and We’re All Going to Die_ — literally; there was a chart taped to the inside of the liquor cabinet in M’s office — so the three senior executives were able to settle in M’s office for a drink and a chat rather than chasing about after their agents to put out fires.

Q occupied an odd position in the hierarchy only because, as head of MI13 he was technically M’s equal, but he was also M’s subordinate as the head of MI6’s Q Branch. Then again, as Chief of Staff, Tanner had far more influence than M ever would, having served through two regimes. There were very few bodies that Tanner couldn’t un-bury, given the proper incentive. In a way, Mallory was the least ‘executive’ of the lot of them, especially having come into his position as an outsider.

So it was no surprise that Mallory was the one to bring up the elephant in the room. “How are Bond and Trevelyan settling into MI13?”

Q tried not to choke on his sip of brandy and avoided looking at Tanner. “There’s been a learning curve, on both sides, but we’re ironing things out. Today they were catching up on reading, and 006 found a book of spells. He thought he’d died and gone to Hogwarts.”

“Oh, good lord,” Mallory said, gesturing at the liquor cabinet. “Did you want me to make that a double?”

Tanner muffled a laugh with his hand, then politely observed, “Could be worse. They could’ve decided you’d gone barmy and tried to have you sectioned.”

“There was a certain amount of scepticism at the start, and honestly, I’m still not sure whether Bond totally believes me. Luckily, he’ll follow Trevelyan to hell and back, so I don’t have a defector on my hands.” Q took a sip of his brandy and watched Tanner’s eyebrows raise.

“Really? We assessed 006 as the potential problem,” Tanner said, frowning at Mallory, who just shrugged. He hadn’t been at MI6 long enough to work with either one of them, beyond his involvement in the Silva incident with Bond.

“006? From the start he’s been more interested — more willing to believe. Granted, I’ve never seen 007 take _anything_ seriously that wasn’t directly related to a mission.” Q refrained from saying something about how seriously Bond seemed to go about flirting — or used to.

That got him a frown from both Mallory and Tanner. Sounding somewhat embarrassed, Mallory quietly said, “We _are_ still designating Bond as 007 and Trevelyan as 006, yes? Or have you switched them around?”

It was Q’s turn to frown, wondering what he — or they — had missed. “No, you’re right. What have I said that’s so confusing? Bond looks serious all the time, but he brushes everything off and does his own thing. It’s like water off a duck’s back, talking to him. Trevelyan will shrug his way to doomsday, but he at least has _opinions_ about things.”

“Bond’s being _polite_ to you?” Tanner asked, no longer sounding casual and diffident.

Q nodded slowly, suddenly unsure of himself. “Half the time, he’s reining Trevelyan in. He’s diplomatic, but unswayable.” He stopped short of saying more, unnerved by the shocked way Mallory and Tanner were looking at him.

“The last time I heard Bond’s name and ‘diplomatic’ in the same sentence, we were reviewing the incident in which he blew up an embassy,” Mallory said dryly.

Smoothly, Tanner got up out of his seat and picked up Mallory’s empty glass. Something about the way he turned his back while going for a refill warned Q that the man knew more than he was revealing — or that he was at least choosing his words with care.

“Perhaps,” Tanner said thoughtfully, “they’re just acclimating to their new environment. There was a slight but measurable risk of a sort of... delayed onset shock.”

“Tanner... What are you not saying?” Q didn’t have patience with how hands-off Tanner could be, particularly when he had relevant information and didn’t feel like sharing.

Tanner turned back to offer Mallory his glass, but Q didn’t miss the way they darted glances at one another. When Tanner sat back down, he said, “Our intention in assigning you 006 and 007 was that you could use 007 to rein in some of 006’s more unpredictable —”

“Potentially chaotic,” Mallory muttered.

“— impulses. _Bond_ was supposed to be the believer. Not Trevelyan.” Tanner huffed. “Trevelyan’s such a die-hard sceptic that he hardly believes his own eyes half the time, or so it seems. The only person whose intel he doesn’t double- and triple-check is Bond.”

“They _do_ trust each other implicitly, which will be of great value to me, but what made you think the surly old bulldog would believe over the wolf that’s lived through everything?” Q wondered for a moment if 006 had experienced something paranormal that made him more willing to be persuaded.

There was something unscripted about Tanner’s blink, as though Q had genuinely caught him by surprise, before he could school his expression into something more neutral. “Well, _you_ ,” he said bluntly.

Q frowned and set down his glass. “What _about_ me?”

“Bond’s trusted you since the very beginning. He’s rather...” Tanner glanced aside as though embarrassed. “He’s more than a bit fond of you.”

“That’s ridiculous. Say what you mean. He and I worked together on the Silva case, which obviously was a difficult one for him. It’s no wonder that it’s taken him some time to come back from that. But he’s no more fond of me than he is you.” Q’s voice was more forceful than he meant it to be.

“You do know the man’s bisexual, don’t you?” Mallory asked hesitantly, as though embarrassed to even bring it up.

Tanner didn’t roll his eyes, but Q suspected the impulse was there. “His behaviour profile suggests he’s _significantly_ more fond of you than of me or anyone else, except perhaps Trevelyan.”

Q did his best not to sputter. “You— You’re making this up. Tanner, you must know _they_ are together. They’re so tight-knit, there’s no room for anyone else.”

This time, Tanner’s cheeks definitely went dark. “Believe me, they make room for others whenever they bloody well please. _You’ve_ been number one on Bond’s target list since you took over from Major Boothroyd. And since Bond never took you off the list, we assumed Trevelyan approved of the choice.”

 _That_ made Q’s neck flush hot. To hear the Chaos Twins casually flirt and banter and pretend to seduce him into their bed was one thing — something that he’d found absurd enough to know how to handle. But to hear Tanner be so matter-of-fact about the idea of Q being on the top of _anyone’s_ list, let alone 007’s.. _._ “That doesn’t exist. The list. You haven’t talked to him about this. Stop making baseless claims before I feel the need to prove you wrong.”

“Q, that’s why we —”

“All right,” Mallory interrupted, holding up one hand. “Let’s all be happy that our problem agents _aren’t_ trying to shag an executive. They’re settling in without any problems, Q?”

“Mostly, yes. A hiccup here and there, but we’re managing fine.” Q was relieved to not be arguing such an obvious point with Tanner anymore. It had been making him feel like the ground beneath him was shifting, and he was queasy.

“Excellent,” Mallory approved, turning back to Tanner with relief. “And the state of the not-so-supernatural world?” he asked, getting the meeting back on track.

Q tuned out for Tanner’s answer and paid only minimal attention for the rest of the meeting. Instead, he attempted to replay all of his and Bond’s interactions in light of what Tanner had said.

It didn’t make one iota of sense. He resolved to wait and gather data — evidence to prove Tanner wrong — rather than corner him later and demand a clearer explanation. It would save time, as Q was certain he was right, no matter how much he wished for it to be the contrary.


	9. Chapter 9

The supernatural world, James realized, could be distilled down into a simple yet lengthy decision tree not too dissimilar from one he’d use when dealing with double agents whose loyalties could never be certain. Of course, it was rare that those agents would actually try to eat people — rare, but not unheard-of — but if a _creature_ was attempting to eat people, James would happily shoot, stab, salt, or burn it without bothering to analyse the specifics until after the fact.

His notes were all mental, a holdover from the world of conventional espionage that had ruled his life up until two weeks ago. He’d tackled the broad categories of threat classification fairly easily, stumbled briefly upon finding out that certain things — dragons, for example — were real, and then begun breaking everything down into a list of field tests that would help him identify the fastest way to neutralise a threat. The all-purpose knife, manufactured with cold iron, silver, and gold, was an excellent start, but not necessarily sufficient —

“Huh.”

James blinked, focusing first on the book in his hands, then over at Alec’s desk, which had caught fire in the very centre.

Alec grinned. “Looks like _that_ works,” he said proudly.

A little twinge of envy hit James, whose learning to this point had all been theoretical. “Nicely done, but perhaps a little excessive?”

Alec snorted. “Excessive? Fire’s binary. Either it is or it isn’t. And this definitely is.”

“Yes, but it’s also on your desk,” James said, eyeing the curls of smoke rising from the merry blaze. The smoke was thick and oily — varnish wasn’t the sort of stuff to burn cleanly — and he started considering toxic fumes and the speed at which a burning desk would displace the breathable air in the office. His guess was far from scientific, but the duration was low enough that he made his quick way to the door so he could prop it open.

“Aren’t you even going to ask _how_ I did it?” Alec asked, sounding disappointed.

“I’m going to assume magic, since I didn’t hear you take out your lighter,” James said, considering the next step of the problem. The fire sprinklers in the security room had water not for fire suppression but for threat detection. Were the rest of the sprinklers similarly useless? And the offices were underground — underwater, technically — so there were no convenient windows to let in fresh air.

“Well, obviously. But _I did it_ ,” Alec said, finally standing. After a moment of regarding his fire proudly, he picked up his laptop and moved it onto James’ desk, as if that would help once their entire office was ablaze.

“You didn’t think to bring in a fire _extinguisher_ before you began experimenting, did you?” James asked.

Alec shrugged. “I didn’t think it’d actually work. I mean, it’s _magic_. It’s not supposed to actually work.”

Q poked his head out of his office, gave both of them a wide-eyed look, then turned toward the fire. He waved the fingers of his right hand in a vaguely grabby motion, then clasped them tight in a fist. The fire snuffed itself out.

Before James could even inhale to thank Q, Alec demanded, “What if I wasn’t done with it yet?”

“What, pray tell, did you plan on _doing_ with it? It’s a flaming desk,” Q deadpanned.

“Performance art,” James muttered, smirking at Alec, who was ignoring everyone in favour of searching his phone.

Then, with a triumphant, “Aha!” Alec held up his phone to show Q a photograph on the screen. He’d taken to photographing the spells in books he couldn’t smuggle out, which was probably against the original intent of MI13’s security protocols. “That one. It can turn fire into an elemental portal.”

Q looked up at Alec with a curiously wary expression. “You are _not_ inviting a fire elemental into MI13. One, elementals don’t take kindly to being trifled with, and two, it’s nearly impossible even for me, given the protections on this place, so don’t even try.”

“It’s not that I want a _fire elemental_ ,” Alec said with his second most charming smile, lying through his teeth. “I just wanted a salamander — a small one. It’s damp in here. Probably because we’re under the Thames and all.”

Q seemed a bit nonplussed, but he crossed his arms over his chest as if trying to keep some level of authority. “Get a bloody space heater, and get over it.”

Utterly innocent, now that he was on moral high ground, Alec said, “But a salamander is green. Energy green, not the colour. No carbon footprint.”

James turned his back on Q and coughed, failing to hide the laughter that bubbled up. God, he loved it when Alec turned his logic on unsuspecting people.

“No. The answer is no. And if you try a stunt like this again, I’ll lock all the spellcasting books closed. From now on I’m assigning you reading to understand why these choices are horrid ones,” Q said, sounding more like an exasperated parent talking to a wayward child than an angry executive talking to a wayward field agent. Perhaps there wasn’t much difference.

Still coughing, probably from the lingering toxic fumes, James told Q, “Personnel tried talking to us about our decision process as part of their new hire training. A very nice lady with a clipboard and everything. She quit a week and a half later.”

Q barely looked at James to answer him. “She didn’t have stories of cages made of eternal flame and the wrath of immortal fire wraiths to prove her point.” He took hold of Alec’s elbow and marched him to the bookshelf.

“I _am_ a professional, you know,” Alec said, giving Q the sort of indulgent look reserved for precocious children or particularly clever pets. It caught James by surprise; he and Alec had been keeping things strictly professional for a week or two now.

Maybe the fire had Alec in a good mood. He always did like to show off.

Q didn’t even look at Alec, let alone immediately respond. He stared hard at the bookshelf for a moment before pulling down three large books and handing them over.  “Professionals know what they’re dealing with before they start casting spells willy-nilly. Start with these, and learn the theory first. _Then_ we’ll talk about appropriate use of spellcasting. Now get to work.”

“See? Was that so bad?” Alec asked with a grin that turned sharp when he met James’ eyes. “Understanding theory means it won’t take almost two bloody hours to get a proper fire started.”

“You spent _two hours_ on that spell?” Q looked halfway between shocked and impressed. “Get out of my sight, agent. I don’t want to see you until you’ve at least read all of Mackenzie’s _Theory of Elemental Influence_. It’s an authoritative text in the field.”

“In that case, I’ll need an exception so I can take all three books home at the same time,” Alec said smoothly, leaving James to wonder if Q knew the end result would be Alec lounging on the sofa, eating pizza and trying to light the ottoman on fire. James made a mental note to check up on his flat’s insurance policy. Again.

Q sighed. “No. Just that one to start. And not until the end of the day.” He turned on his heel and headed for his office.

“But —”

Faced with the prospect of listening to Alec’s complaints in an office full of fumes, James cut Alec off and went after Q, saying, “Actually, Quartermaster, I need to speak with you.”

“Come in, 007.” Q smiled wanly, as if tired. He held the door to his office open for James to enter.

Thankfully, the computers in Q’s office required powerful air conditioning and ventilation systems. Once the door closed, the office was virtually free of smoke. Glancing back into the reading room, James saw Alec head across to the break room, rather than returning to the smoky office. It’d probably be a week before he went in there again — unless he wanted to give a firestarting spell another go.

“I was looking up mortality reports. Most years, the on-assignment mortality rate for your ‘specialised contractors’ reached double digits.” James raised an eyebrow as he settled back into the guest chair across the desk from Q. “I hope you weren’t expecting that same sort of abysmal performance from us.”

Q’s expression was guarded, but he leaned forward to answer, “Of course not. I’ve been saying for years we need trained professionals to do this work, not obsessive hunters with dubious experience.”

“And the sort of mental trauma that would make MI6’s psych division quit _en masse_ ,” James said with a little shudder. “But that also works to the outsiders’ advantage. They have the experience to be able to distinguish between at least _some_ malicious and benign entities on sight. Of course, when faced with the unfamiliar, that seems to be the twelve to fourteen per cent mortality rate, but...” He shrugged.

“We tried to have a stable of hunters that had diverse knowledge, and called upon the appropriate one depending on the threat, but that wasn’t always possible — or successful,” Q said, chagrined.

“I can imagine.” James cringed inwardly at the thought of these untrained amateurs being sent out to issue traffic tickets, much less to face down supernatural threats in a discreet manner. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out his MI6-issued phone, which he’d neglected to turn back over to Q Branch, and opened one of his apps. “We need this updated. Biometric data on distinguishing subtypes of threats, at-a-glance containment strategies, and contact information for specialists — or at the very least, scanned texts from the library out there.” He slid the phone across the desk.

“Oh.” Q’s face softened as he pulled James’ phone towards himself. “The facial recognition app. I remember this one. It didn’t go over well with most of the field agents, I believe.” He tapped on the screen for a few moments as if familiar with the interface.

“It takes a steady hand to get a good photo — that was the top complaint, if I recall. One would imagine that weekly firearms qualifications would encourage that sort of thing,” James said flatly. “The database is four years out of date, but Alec and I still use it. The system’s sensitive enough that it’ll pick up subtle differences that could fool even a trained agent’s eye. Lessens the risk of shooting some bastard target’s younger brother or something.”

Q looked up at him, surprised. “You still use it? You should have told me. I could have updated it for you. I thought it wasn’t effective enough. I’d always meant to tweak it and try reissuing it.” He looked back down at the phone thoughtfully.

“Well, if you can get your hands on the original program, an updated version with that in its database” — James gestured out at the library of books — “would be ideal. Snap a photo of an unknown threat, get an immediate assessment. That sort of thing.”

No longer distracted by the phone, Q looked sharply at Bond. “Clever. Why didn’t I think of that when I was first developing this one for MI6? We could have had both versions available.” He turned to his computer and hummed. “I wonder where I filed the original...”

“You?” James asked over the sound of Q’s light typing.

“What? Yes.” Q didn’t look away from the screen, his attention once again elsewhere. “It was one of my first projects for MI6.”

James let out an irritated huff. The project had been rolled out and promptly abandoned, which made it less than useful, especially once the database got too old and inaccurate. But if Q — _this_ Q, rather than Major Boothroyd — had been in charge, would the program have received the attention it deserved?

“Well, update it here and for MI6. Make the bloody idiots learn to use it,” James insisted. “If nothing else, when they get sacked from MI6 for failing to use all tools at their disposal to get the job done, they can all become wedding photographers.”

“Hmm. I’ll need input from you and 006 about its user interface. Had I known you’d been field-testing it all this time, I would have made you take notes.” Q turned to look at James with a slight smile. “But yes. If the recognition software is sufficiently accurate, then I’ll do that. _Our_ version will take longer because much of the information will have to be entered from our database and the library instead of sorting through thousands of databases around the world. But if it will be useful —”

“Actually, I’d like to see _less_ information immediately displayed,” James said, moving to the edge of his seat so he could see the phone’s screen, reminding himself of key interface elements. “Unless I’m very mistaken in understanding how these things work, I won’t need to know that a particular carnivorous plant-monster is the CEO of a multi-national corporation. Not unless the world’s grown significantly stranger in the last few weeks.”

Q’s smile broke into a grin. “No, but you _will_ need to know whether it’s poisonous or not, and how mobile it can be.” He leaned forward to look at the phone, his fringe falling down to block his eyes from James’ view. “What else? Whether it’s more active during the day or night?”

“How to kill it, how to lure it to another location, its offensive and defensive capabilities...” James leaned back, thinking about everything he’d read and analysed over the last week. “Size of its pack or herd. Bloody velociraptors from _Jurassic Park_. Speaking of which, Alec wants to know if dinosaurs still exist.”

“He is literally a child. How do you wrangle him full time?” Q shook his head with what might have been a fond smile.

With a fond smile of his own, James asked softly, “When’s the last time you met any field agent, much less a Double O, who actually _enjoys_ life outside of his missions? Of all the agents, he’s the best at setting aside the mission once it’s complete. He rarely even has nightmares.”

“You...” For a moment, Q’s face betrayed a look of unguarded wonder, but then he seemed to catch himself and cleared his throat. “That sort of _joie de vivre_ must mean a great deal to you.”

Suddenly aware of how close he was to a very personal admission, James shrugged and said, “There isn’t a better sniper in any intelligence service in the world. I’m willing to put up with the occasional kitchen fire to have him at my back.”

Q sat back, but didn’t quite let up, even though his voice went mild, almost casual. “Can you feel it? His joy? Does the connection you share include emotions?”

James opened his mouth to say no, then caught himself. He and Alec had experimented with specific words and images, not with emotions, but... “I feel _better_ when he’s nearby,” he said uncertainly. “Safer. But that’s entirely reasonable, all things considered.”

“Of course.” Q nodded slowly. “What about more able? Does being in proximity mean you’re more effective, whether or not he’s actively helping?”

James grinned. “You don’t know him very well, if you’d ask that. Alec is _always_ helping.”

A wry smile spread sideways across Q’s face. “I know him well enough to be aware that _his_ definition of helping is rarely accurate.”

“True. But it _is_ always entertaining.”

 

~~~

 

_“Quartermaster!”_

Danielle’s startled shout came just as Q was putting his systems into automated night-mode. Startled, he jerked his hand back away from the power button on his monitor and looked up at the flickering ghost —

Just as he felt a flare of hot energy crawl over his mental shields as _something_ manifested, only metres away. Danielle was staring off at the wall, in the direction of the break room.

Where Trevelyan had disappeared hours earlier with a book on elemental theory. Dear gods, what had he done now?

Q dashed out of his office, past Bond, who was quietly reading, and through the doors of the break room, yelling, “ _Theory,_ Alec! Not practice!” Behind him, he heard Bond drop the book and rise so abruptly, the heavy armchair scraped over the floor.

As soon as Q had the break room door open, he saw the flames radiating out from Trevelyan’s outstretched hand. There in his palm was a tiny lizard that looked as if it were made of lava, swirls of deep orange and gold moving under tiny black scales. Trevelyan had a smug grin that was heart-stoppingly gorgeous — or maybe that was just the panic of having an uncontained elemental inside MI13.

“It’s _fine_ ,” Trevelyan said blithely, rubbing one finger over the top of the salamander’s head. Instead of snapping off his finger at the first joint, the elemental actually seemed to purr or growl — however it was that lizards expressed contentment. “See? He can be a division mascot.”

“Absolutely not. 006, this is not a game. Take it to the containment area immediately.” As Q got over his initial shock, he risked taking one step closer and asked, “How did you do it?” He couldn’t help but be impressed, whether with Trevelyan’s diligence or his stubbornness, he wasn’t sure. Maybe simply his calmness in the face of the improbable.

“Quantum entanglement,” Trevelyan said unhelpfully, still petting the uncontrolled salamander. And it just sat there, docile as a kitten — hell, _more_ docile than the last kitten who’d crossed Q’s path.

“ _National Geographic_ article,” Bond said, right behind Q’s ear. “JFK Airport waiting lounge. Nothing to do but read magazines.”

Trevelyan nodded. “If the salamander was _there_ , then it's also _here_. So I just picked it up.”

Q was a bit in awe. It was one thing to light a fire on one’s desk. It was wholly another to understand the subtle threads that held reality and nature together — and then have the audacity to believe one could influence them.

The majority of MI13’s contractors were simply hunters who knew lore but not theory and the odd magically inclined person who was still more of a hedge witch than a sorcerer. Q had been trying, to no avail, to change that, but it had been a struggle under Boothroyd, who had never truly understood how entwined science and magic really were. Not to the level that Trevelyan had discovered in a few hours with Mackenzie’s seminal work.

“All right, but _where_ did you pick it up from? Are we about to be visited by a wrathful conflagration demon?” Q was starting to understand that along with Trevelyan’s apparent aptitude came a surfeit of recklessness, such that the worst case was probably the one to prepare for.

Instead of answering immediately, Trevelyan looked past Q, probably to meet Bond’s eyes. Then he shrugged and said, “Wherever they come from. Elemental plane of fire? Middle of a volcano?”

“At least he didn’t do it on the table,” Bond said smoothly, as though practiced at seeing the bright side of Trevelyan’s antics. “Is there a reason that his hand’s not _actually_ on fire, though?”

“It likes me,” Trevelyan answered. “It wouldn’t burn me. Would you?” He wasn’t cooing at the salamander, but it was a near thing.

Q blanked on having any idea what to do next. Trevelyan was unharmed and somehow seemed to have the situation under control. Nothing about that made sense. It took Q longer than it should have to blurt out, “For God’s sake, _put it back!_ ”

Trevelyan hit Q with a kicked-puppy expression that had no place on a grown man, much less a trained government assassin. With a soft murmur in Russian, Trevelyan scratched the salamander’s head one last time. Then the elemental just disappeared, between one blink and the next, as if it had never existed in the first place.

Only then, once it was safe, did Q hear Bond let out a soft sigh. Q himself realised he was finally breathing again, and his brain had come back online enough to step up to Trevelyan and check him closely for injury. “Show me your hand, then tell me — do _not_ show me — how you did it.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Trevelyan repeated, holding out his hand. No reddening, no blistering. Q brushed his fingers over Trevelyan’s palm in disbelief. The skin wasn’t even particularly warm to the touch. “I just sort of... They’re just... _here_ , only a step removed. James...”

“Don’t look at me,” Bond said from where he still lurked by the door. “I have no bloody idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s that” — Trevelyan pulled his hand away and made a vague motion as though stacking layers one atop the next — “that multi-universe convergence... _thing_. Everything’s all in the same place, only _not_.”

Q stared at Trevelyan’s hands, taking in just how well he had understood his reading in theory, and tried not to become giddy at the possibilities. Not only did he have his own assassin-level trained agents, but it was clear they had the capacity to become adept at harnessing and using magic against threats. If Q was being truthful with himself, it hadn’t ever occurred to him that either of the Chaos Twins might have some facility with spellcasting — or any inclination towards magic. It made them that much more attractive — both as new hires and as people.

“Alec...” Q looked into Trevelyan’s eyes, pushing his glasses up to get a clear view. “That was bloody amazing. Don’t do it again. You risked everyone’s life just then, and though it worked out fine, there was no way for you to know that it would. And I need you safe.” He brushed his fingers down Trevelyan’s arm before he realised how inappropriate it was.

“If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known that I _can_ ,” Trevelyan pointed out logically, favouring Q with a lopsided, somewhat proud smile.

“Which is how Double O’s work in general,” Bond added. “You must have realised that by now. Telling us we can’t do something is an invitation to bloody well try.”

Q turned to look at Bond. “Even if I say please?” He was still a little shaky from the shock of the summoning, and he couldn’t help but reach for Trevelyan’s hand again.

After a moment, Trevelyan closed his other hand around Q’s and gave him a little tug towards the dining table. “I promise not to call any salamanders when you’re around,” he said sincerely.

At a loss, Q looked back over at Bond for help as he let Trevelyan guide him to sit down. “That’s not what I meant. It’s better if I’m around, honestly. Then there’s someone to help if things go wrong. No offence, Bond. I mean that in a magical sense.”

“Perhaps we should also have a fire extinguisher or two?” Bond suggested, giving Q a sly smile.

Trevelyan laughed as he sat down beside Q, still holding his hand. “See? We had the situation entirely under control.”

“006, you must understand how much more is out there than you’re aware of. The list of what could go wrong is nearly infinite. If you’re interested in trying something, let me know. I’ll be happy to teach you a safe way to go about it or even oversee your attempts.” Q didn’t want to quash the enthusiasm that he and Bond had spoken of earlier, but there _had_ to be a way of keeping Trevelyan from bringing down destruction upon them in the name of experimentation.

Q couldn’t read whatever was behind the quick look that Bond and Trevelyan shared. Bond finally moved away from the doorway to sit on Q’s other side, saying, “In our experience, we work best when given room to improvise.”

“Far from the arse-covering bastards with all their forms and rules.” Trevelyan patted Q’s hand and was quick to add, “Not that you seem nearly as bad as most execs are.”

Q finally thought to pull his hand away and tried to explain things in a way the agents would understand. “We’re a team. The three of us. We all need to know we can trust each other when on a mission. If I’m not certain your spellcasting abilities are stable, my attention is going to be divided, which could get us all killed.”

“We’ve rarely had positive experiences with executives giving orders from a thousand kilometres away from the mission site,” Bond said diplomatically.

“Ordering half-trained recruits to shoot you off a bloody train comes to mind,” Alec said significantly less diplomatically.

“That’s unfair, Trevelyan.” Q was almost certain Bond didn’t hold a grudge against Eve, but he needed to not let the two of them bring all their prejudices into this dynamic, or he’d have months of work ahead of him in breaking down those barriers. “And Bond, you and I have worked on comms before. You know I can serve as a set of eyes in places neither of you can be. Just think of that but _much_ more so, when it comes to threats that are fifty times better than Silva at hiding themselves.”

Bond smiled at him. “I remember how helpful you were, Q. And I made a point of talking to Mallory about it, afterwards.”

Q knew that Bond’s version of _talking_ to Mallory had involved more than a few subtle threats in the event of any retribution against Q’s involvement in what was effectively the kidnapping of a senior executive. At the time, it had felt like an overreaction on Bond’s part, but Q had written it off as a side effect of losing M. But now, with Mallory’s and Tanner’s ridiculous statements about Bond’s ‘infatuation’ fresh in his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been reading quite a few things wrong.

“I appreciate that, 007. But please, both of you, stop thinking of me as being like him — or her. Or like the head of Q Branch, really. I’m effectively another agent in this situation, just not one who goes into the field. Or, more accurately, my field is on a different plane.”

No longer smiling, Bond said, “Then we all have to learn to trust in each other’s expertise.”

Q looked from one to the other of them, hoping they still weren’t holding a grudge about the chatter on comms debacle. “Absolutely. And the things in which you two are expert, I will let alone, I promise you. But Alec is just learning to cast spells, and I’m the expert in that area.”

“But Q...” Trevelyan said, and when Q turned to face him, his smile flashed to life, nearly stealing Q’s breath. “You have to remember, I _am_ an expert with fire.”

“I won’t argue with that, but as far as your AARs for the last decade show, you are _not_ an expert in alternate universes and elemental influence. _Not yet._ ”

“All right,” Trevelyan said, smile fading into a disappointed sigh. “But it _did_ work. And nothing bad happened.”

Q sighed as well, grateful there was a way of getting Trevelyan to listen to reason. “Yes, but that might only be because the universe you reached into had well-behaved salamanders. The next time you try, that might not be the case.” He touched his fingertips lightly to Trevelyan’s bare forearm as he said, “We can practice more. I want you to. But warn me first so I can set up extra protections. And you must continue to read up on what you’re doing — in both theory and practice.”

“I read the theoretical. That’s how —”

Trevelyan’s arm tensed up under Q’s fingertips a heartbeat before heat radiated out from his hand. Energy crackled over Q’s skin as Trevelyan twisted his hand as though catching something falling from the ceiling. With a bright red-gold flash, the salamander reappeared — at least, presumably it was the same one — sitting contently on Trevelyan’s palm in a cloud of flame.

“I didn’t do that,” Trevelyan said, shooting Q a wary look. “That wasn’t my fault.”

“What do you mean? I felt the heat signature from your hand.” Q had already pushed his chair back and was shielding his face from the heat.

“But I didn’t _fetch_ it,” Trevelyan protested, looking to Bond as if for help. “I kept it from falling on the table.”

“If you end up lighting our bloody bed on fire, I’m throwing you out again,” Bond threatened. “This time, for good.”

“Maybe it likes me?”

“If so, that’s more than a little vexing.” Q stood. “I need to research this. Can you put it back, safely?”

“Is it going to come back?” Trevelyan asked, hesitantly petting the salamander. “And if it does, can I come live on your sofa?”

“You might have dislodged it, in which case we have to learn how to put it back more securely.” Q walked to the door, then turned to say, “And my sofa _is_ my bed, which has a strict ‘no fire’ policy.”

Trevelyan’s sharp grin came to life, and he slyly asked, “So we’ll be bedmates, then?”

“Not if that little fellow keeps showing up.” Q clamped his mouth down the moment he spoke and walked into the reading room, hoping neither of the agents could see the flush on his cheeks.

Footsteps warned him a moment before Bond quietly spoke in his ear. “He’s not in danger from that thing, is he?”

Q didn’t flinch, but Bond’s presence just behind him was slightly unnerving. Or maybe exciting. “To be honest, I’m not exactly sure. Especially not now it’s come back.” He moved to the shelf on theory to find a couple of relevant texts.

“It didn’t burn —”

“Q?” Trevelyan called across the reading room.

When Q looked back, he saw Trevelyan standing in the break room doorway, still holding the salamander.

“Everything all right, 006?” Q kept his voice neutral and calm but started to move towards Trevelyan to stand between him and Bond, in case something went wrong.

Trevelyan smiled, innocent and charming. “Out of curiosity, what were you doing that meant you ended up with a ‘no fire in bed’ rule?”

Q grinned despite himself and answered, “Testing your flamethrower. There’s a smudge on my ceiling now.”

Trevelyan’s brows shot up, and he looked past Q, saying, “That’s even kinkier than us.”

For a second, Q thought another salamander was about to appear. Then he realised the flare of heat was simply from his face going bright red. He nearly turned away before remembering that Bond was behind him — apparently giving Trevelyan a disapproving look, judging by the way Trevelyan’s amusement vanished, replaced by a neutral mask.

“You should probably keep that thing near the sink,” Bond suggested calmly. “Q, you were saying?”

“Was I?” Q couldn’t look either of them in the face so he headed back to the bookshelf to stare at the spines until he could read them. The possibilities of what his agents did in bed were crowding his thoughts, along with wondering what on earth Trevelyan had assumed _he’d_ been doing with the flamethrower.

Gently, Bond said, “You find us a way to put the salamander back permanently. I’ll go make certain Alec doesn’t let it eat the microwave or toaster oven.”

“Yes, all right. Thank you, 007.” Q’s eyes never wavered from the books, but his ears were attuned to the sound of Bond walking back to the break room door and exiting through it.

 _How on earth had they gotten here?_ he wondered. Did it take just one unexpected salamander for them to all devolve into complete unprofessionalism? Or was this what it was like to be on the Chaos Twins’ team? And if the latter, how was Q going to manage? Especially if Tanner was right — which he almost always was — and Alec was even close to serious.

The problem was, this way of interacting felt much better than keeping distance between them. Q couldn’t tell if that was selfishly motivated or if it was legitimately better for their working relationship to not treat each other as polite strangers.

No, the _problem_ was the salamander in the break room. And Q had to find a solution to it. He searched for and grabbed two more massive codexes, then set them on an end table to start leafing through the pages for an answer.


	10. Chapter 10

_I thought there’d be more trekking through woods and less scaffolding._

James read the text and snorted without bothering to reply. Alec had wanted to take the roof, leaving James to cover the half-finished building from the ground floor up. Without stairwells and lifts, how the hell did Alec expect to get up top?

The torch was dimmed to avoid attracting outside attention, so James didn’t immediately notice what he hoped — but doubted — was paint. Rust-coloured paint. Rust-coloured paint that had dripped and smeared...

He tapped his earpiece three times in warning, then drew his gun with his free hand. A moment later, Alec’s voice came to his ear. “Contact?”

Two taps — negative — but James didn’t bother to explain. He knew Alec would be making his way back down quickly but alertly, ready to find anyone or anything that might have tried to gain the high ground.

“Can you get me any details?” Q asked a bit more distantly.

James looked around again, but the threat had moved on. He pocketed his torch and took out his mobile, then switched from texting to his camera. He took a quick shot of the wall — and yes, in the bright flash, he could see that was definitely blood — and sent it along to Q.

Before he could pocket the torch, Alec sent another text that made the mobile vibrate in James’ hand: _We’re not going to be done before breakfast._ A moment later, Alec said, over comms, “Nothing on six. Moving to five.”

“Moving to one,” James said softly, daring to speak up, though the blood looked like it hadn’t yet dried. He swiped his thumb over the screen and sent Alec: _I’ll cook for you. Stop bitching._ Then he switched out the mobile for his torch again and went to the scaffold.

It filled the interior stairwell of the gutted building that the historical society had insisted upon preserving rather than knocking it down as the mouldering relic it was. Over the years, it had been a mill, a workshop, a newspaper, and a dingy block of cheap flats. What historical value it had, James couldn’t even imagine, especially since the interior floors and walls had been destroyed and rebuilt a half-dozen times.

Left abandoned for at least the last ten years, it was also the perfect nesting ground for what Q suspected was a shifter that had gone feral, staying in its animal or hybrid form long enough that it had lost its humanity — unlike Laurie. And now this shifter was apparently snacking on the locals, which was why James and Alec were in Bristol on a wet Wednesday night instead of sitting in the warmth of James’ flat bickering over leftovers or occupying themselves in some more entertaining way.

“That’s not much blood,” Q said as James started the climb up to the first floor. “There may be a survivor. I’m ready to alert emergency services.”

That was a new part of the job — one James appreciated. He was used to putting the mission before everything else, including collateral damage. MI13’s mandate, though, placed higher regard on civilian lives, as long as they hadn’t seen anything that couldn’t be explained away by trauma and shadows.

A possible survivor was a good omen, for their first _actual_ mission.

 

~~~

 

The problem with scrying was that what appeared in the device — the water, the mirror, the crystal — wasn’t always actually present. Places had imprinted memories of long-term events, traumatic events, and, worst of all, deaths. The viewer’s own worries and fears could create false visions. Sometimes, threats appeared in metaphorical forms that needed to be interpreted.

All in all, Q preferred banks of security cameras whenever possible.

In this case, though, he fought to keep his mind clear, his emotions calm, and his fingers steady on the water. His heartbeat sent ripples across the surface, distorting the already-unclear view that kept flickering between Trevelyan and Bond. And they kept reaching into the motorcycle jackets that they were wearing on the theory that leather offered some measure of protection from shifter claws. The first half-dozen times, Q thought they were going for guns, and his heart always jumped, but for whatever bloody reason, they were mucking with their mobiles.

It took him two more floors — until Bond was on two and Trevelyan on four — to realise they were _texting_. Each other.

He sighed and switched on his mic. “Oh, for Gods’ sake, stop texting. I keep thinking you’re reaching for your guns, and it’s distracting for all of us. I’m not going to fall to pieces if there’s a bit of chat on comms.”

For a few seconds, the only answer was the flash of their bloody texts back and forth. Then Bond said, “No time now. Alec?”

“I see it,” Trevelyan answered grimly as the perspective in the scrying bowl jumped back to Bond. His torch was aimed right at what had once been a cat-shifter, Q believed, though it had been in its hybrid form long enough for certain mutations to have taken hold — easily five years or more. Not much research had been done on shifters who were shape-locked long enough to lose their humanity.

Bond and Trevelyan had startled it into immobility. A flash of light, and then Q’s computer chimed an alert. The threat analysis app wasn’t ready for the field just yet, but the stronger processing ability of his computer was able to confirm his initial suspicion based on the photo: domestic cat shifter, most likely from the continent. It had probably come over via a cargo ship; Q highly doubted it would’ve crossed the Channel unaided.

“Sharp claws and fangs, but no other threats. Wounds may be infected, and of course, there’s the chance of turning from a bite, so be careful.”

“What kind is it?” Trevelyan asked.

Before Q could answer, Bond asked, “Does it matter?”

“It looks mangy. It could be anything. I’d rather not be a were-vole or something.”

“Don’t get bitten regardless, but it’s a domestic cat.” Q was about to give orders when Bond interrupted again.

“That’s not so bad,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ve always wanted a cat.”

“If you’re hinting I should get bit, then you can’t keep threatening to throw me out of your flat,” Trevelyan warned.

“ _You’re_ a pain in the arse, not a cat. And cats are less likely to clear out the fridge or leave pizza on the sofa.”

“Boys. Focus. Orders are to kill. We can’t save it at this point.” Q kept his voice neutral, though their bickering made him smile.

“But James wants a cat,” Trevelyan said slyly. Q turned back to the scrying bowl, ready to scold them for chatting rather than killing, but the bowl showed they were both moving, getting into better positions. Casually, Trevelyan continued, “It wouldn’t be so bad, being a cat. Other than the cannibalism.”

“Is it cannibalism if you’re a shifter-cat eating humans?” Bond asked in an equally casual voice. Was that intentional? Were they speaking calmly to keep the shifter from bolting?

Clever bastards.

“There’s a fellow in France that’s done quite a bit of research on shifters. If you want to read up on them, I can get you the studies. He might have a book.” Q hoped Trevelyan wasn’t foolish enough to engage with the cat just to see what it was like, but he knew better than to forbid it.

“Laurie preferred the egg rolls at the afterparty,” Bond pointed out. “Maybe the cannibalism is optional.”

Trevelyan hummed thoughtfully. “We’ll ask her next time we see her. You good?”

“Very. You?”

“Now.”

That was Q’s only warning before gunshots rang loudly through his high-quality headset. The view in the scrying bowl churned as if he’d splashed his hand through the bowl, and he frantically tried to settle the surface and summon up a clear image of what was going on.

The agents were no help. Q counted seven shots, maybe eight, before everything went silent except for harsh breaths and grunts. A metallic _clang_ made him flinch, and he had to close his eyes and take a couple of deep breaths for himself just so he could keep the scrying spell from fraying apart.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Trevelyan on his back, shoulders lifted enough to aim the gun, though he probably couldn’t see a damned thing through the blood streaming from his cut forehead. Q took another breath and focused his attention on Bond —

Then swore viciously under his breath, because Bond was fighting the shifter with his knife, risking bites and worse. The scrying bowl could hardly keep up with the malevolence swirling around the feral shifter, blurring its limbs into shadow, but Bond’s intense focus on the battle seemed to bring him into sharp detail until he, at least, looked as if he’d been filmed in high resolution.

“Alec?” he barked without turning his attention from the shifter.

“Down!” Trevelyan yelled back.

Bond ducked, feinting a punch to the shifter’s gut just as Trevelyan’s gunshot nearly deafened Q all over again. Barely an instant later, Bond stood and punched up with his knife-hand, catching the shifter under the jaw as it shook its head, now minus one furry ear. The knife should have plunged through its jaw and into its brain, but the thing had the reflexes of a purely feral supernatural, and Bond laid open the side of its face instead, from teeth to brow.

Despite being half-blinded — despite Bond blocking line-of-sight — Trevelyan fired again. Bond jerked to the side, and Q swore that the bullet passed close enough for him to feel its heat against his face. The shot took out the shifter’s eye, but the thing was too damned resilient to die, even with a silver-plated round in its brain.

It wasn’t until Trevelyan emptied the last of his magazine, every shot slicing through air where Bond had been moments before, that Q realised just how coordinated they were. He had seen a lot of things in his time, but watching the two of them work together as one was impressive enough to astound him. And the most unnerving part was knowing that if he brought it up with them, they’d do nothing but shrug.

The scene in the scrying bowl finally went dim, showing only a flickering view of Bond standing over the fallen shifter, no longer in ultra-sharp focus.

“Good work, agents. Status?” Q asked.

“I don’t think it’s inclined to continue fighting,” Bond said, not even out of breath.

“Is it dead?” Trevelyan asked, walking up next to Bond. They shimmered, flickering close to each other, as if they were slightly out of focus, though they weren’t moving.

“Which piece?”

Trevelyan barked out a laugh. “That answers that. Can we burn this place down, Q? If we leave now, we can get back in time to beat the breakfast rush.”

Q muted his mic in order to sigh heavily, relieved, then switched it back on to say, “Affirmative. Breakfast’s on me. And I meant _your_ status. I can tell the threat’s been eliminated.”

After a moment, Trevelyan said, “Well, I’m hungry. You sent us here in the middle of dinner.” It came out only slightly accusatory.

“It’s also raining, so add ‘cold’ and ‘damp’ to the list,” Bond added.

Trevelyan laughed again. “So go start the car, James. Frank and I have work to do.”

“I can see you’re bleeding. I want a full status report. Also, who the bloody hell is Frank?” There was only so much joshing Q could take. He supposed he’d reached his limit.

“The salamander,” Trevelyan said innocently. “I named him after you. Wasn’t that nice of me?”

Q smiled wryly to himself at the blatant attempt to get information out of him. “Good effort. Your head, Alec. How’s your head?”

“Fine. Just a scratch.”

“He says that when he’s shot, too,” Bond warned, though he’d already moved away from Trevelyan, leaving them both little more than indistinct blurs in the scrying bowl, now that the rush of combat had faded. The energy drain on all three of them had been significant enough that Q wouldn’t be able to maintain the spell for much longer.

“Then it’s your job to bandage him up, James.” Q had started to use his free hand to squeeze the tension out of the back of his neck, when it hit him. “Hang on. 006. You can find Frank whenever you want, and he’ll light fires for you?” It wasn’t that Q was tired of having agents of his own; it was that his agents were tiring.

“Well, yes,” Trevelyan said, a wary edge creeping into his voice. “He likes me. You know that. I’m very likeable.”

“I do. But tell me he stays put these days.” Q was starting to lose the visual, so he concentrated on the sound of Trevelyan’s voice.

“Well, usually,” Trevelyan hedged. “Unless he’s bored, I think. But he waits for me to grab him instead of just showing up. Of course, I’m not sure how to tell if a bloody elemental lizard is _bored_. He might be hungry.”

“Do you know what he eats? No, never mind. Finish your mission. Get home safe. You two can choose where we eat.” Q directed the scrying bowl’s gaze to Bond for just a moment to check that he was okay, then let the spell go. He couldn’t help but sigh in relief as the pull on his mind dissipated.

“Are _you_ all right?” Bond asked at once.

“Yes. Tired. If I’ve dozed off when you get here, wake me.” Q let his eyes fall closed, listening as Bond and Trevelyan coordinated — mostly involving Trevelyan asking if Bond was out of the building yet and Bond badgering him into coming to the ground floor before turning his fire elemental loose.

“Q? Q?”

It took a moment for Bond’s voice to sink in. “Yes, here. Sorry. What do you need, James?”

After a moment, Bond gently said, “Never mind. I’ll call fire services myself to alert them to the fire. Go get some rest.”

“Yes, all right. Thanks. Tell Alec to tell Frank thank you, too. Q out.” Q turned off his mic, but left the earpiece on, just in case.

“Well?” Danielle asked, appearing beside Q as he started switching his systems over to automatic monitoring. “How did they do?”

“Very well. They work excellently together.” Q couldn’t help the proud smile on his face.

“Good. That’s good,” she said a bit uncertainly. “I had my doubts about them, but you seem to be controlling the worst of their excesses, these last few weeks.”

“They mostly just want me to trust them to be the stellar agents that they are. I’m learning that their instincts are good no matter the target.” Q stifled a yawn.

“They’re still disreputable,” she complained. “When was the last time the bigger one wore a tie?”

“Unsure. Don’t care.” Q stood up to head to the reading room.

“You should at least issue a memorandum,” she suggested, floating through the wall as he made his way through the door.

“I’m not about to make him resent me for no reason.” As he slowly made his way to one of the armchairs and curled up to get a couple hours’ sleep, he added, “Good night, Danielle.”

“Good night, Quartermaster.”

 

~~~

 

Alec shifted the drinks holder to one hand so he could open the door to the reading room. James, carrying coffee in one hand and a box of pastries in the other, took one step inside and stopped, saying, “Well, then.”

“What?”

Alec got a foot in front of the door and looked around James to see Q sleeping in one of the armchairs. Skinny as he was, he didn’t quite fit; his feet were hanging over one arm. The way his neck was bent, he’d be seeing a chiropractor once he woke up, and he couldn’t have been all too warm, thanks to the chill that always lingered in the offices under the river.

“Oh.” A little uncomfortably, Alec looked to James for some sort of hint as to what to do next. James hadn’t mentioned his one-time infatuation with Q for the last month, give or take — ever since Q had made it clear that it was one-sided. The three of them had come to a decent enough working balance, and Alec didn’t want to ruin that, no matter how... _cute_ the Quartermaster was at the moment.

“So much for breakfast,” James said softly, taking a step back into Alec, who swore and barely managed to keep from splashing coffee and tea — one large cup of each — all over himself.

“Hmm?” Q sighed and shuddered and blinked, reaching for his glasses laid on the arm of the chair near his face. “All right?”

“Go back —” James shook his head and stepped forward, saying, “Actually, you shouldn’t sleep like that. You won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Like what? Was the fire okay? Is Alec’s head — Oh, 006.” Q sat up and cracked his neck, then stretched his arms high above his head. Then he motioned to Alec to come closer. “Let me see your head.”

“It’s fine,” Alec lied. It actually hurt like bloody hell, and James didn’t carry nearly enough painkillers in his car, but the bleeding had stopped. James had even picked up a bottle of water so Alec could clean up, rather than looking like a zombie attack survivor. “We brought breakfast.”

“Bond, _is_ he all right?” Q paused for a moment to look both of them over, his eyes still squinty. “Are you?” He reached out to James, probably because he was closer, to get a good look at him. And unlike Alec, James didn’t stand his ground.

Instead, he went to Q and set the box of pastries on the table next to his armchair. “We’re both fine. We’ve had far worse happen during a mission. Are _you_ all right?”

“Yes, of course. I thought he’d shot you seven times over. Feels like a miracle he missed.” Q took hold of James’ arm as if to make sure he was real, and it took a few seconds for Q’s words to sink into Alec’s brain.

“I didn’t _miss_ ,” Alec protested indignantly. “I wasn’t aiming at James! Why the hell would I shoot him? I’m not Eve.”

Q turned his gaze on Alec, looking particularly owlish as he blinked and pulled his faculties together to answer, “Bond was standing _in front of_ the shifter. Right in your line of sight. Every shot you fired missed him by centimetres at most. It was terrifying.”

“Centimetres. That’s practically across the bloody room,” Alec said, looking to James for help. The bastard was just smirking, as if taking Q’s side. With a frustrated huff, Alec crossed to the nearest table so he could put down the drinks carrier. “See if I buy you two breakfast again. Come get your bloody tea.”

Q stood, but turned his attention to James before anything. He spoke softly, but not so Alec couldn’t hear. “Can you feel it? Does it not scare you? Or do you just trust him that much?”

James shrugged. “He wouldn’t pull the trigger if he wasn’t certain where the bullet would go.”

Soothed a bit, Alec nodded. “Not even if there was a chance I’d hit him.”

“But you were moving the whole time. It’s...” Q shook his head and touched James’ arm one more time before moving to get his tea. “You two are bloody amazing.”

“Well, yes,” Alec said, even more soothed by this concession. “No matter what you think of us, you _did_ get MI6’s two best agents.”

“True. But not the easiest.” Q smiled as he took the top off his tea and sniffed the steam rising from it. “I’d admit how well I think of you, if it meant you’d still do what I tell you.”

“We’d say we would,” Alec told him, figuring he was too sleepy to catch the careful wording.

“Well of course you’ll _say_ anything, won’t you?” Q took a sip of his tea before adding, “Are those pastries?”

“Yes,” James said quickly, while Alec was still trying to figure out how to answer Q. “We didn’t know what you’d like, so we picked up a variety.”

“Very considerate. Thank you. But I was supposed to take _you_ out.” Q peered into the box as if considering the options.

“You were too busy sleeping.”

“Giving yourself a backache,” Alec added critically. “Why don’t you have a sofa in your office?”

“I was waiting for you to come home,” Q said l as he selected a chocolate croissant from the box. “And I _have_ a sofa, upstairs. Tactical error, that. I spend more nights here these days than MI6.”

“You should probably go to your _real_ home and get a decent morning’s sleep,” Alec suggested, reaching past Q — who’d stalled, holding the croissant and his tea — so he could grab whatever pastry was closest at hand.

“After you eat, I can drive you there,” James offered. Alec shot him a look, though after a moment’s consideration, he didn’t say anything. Q was in no fit state to drive.

“My workday has just started. Yours is at its end. And hopefully you’ll both be asleep when I’m done here. Don’t worry about me.” Q smiled at James and touched his arm — for the third time, Alec noted — as he passed by to sit on an arm of a chair.

The mixed signals had Alec abruptly on edge. Why was Q pawing at James _and_ trying to send them away?

Maybe James picked up on what Alec was feeling; maybe he was feeling it himself. Either way, James stepped away to look at the selection of pastries, saying, “You’re the one who told us magic is as exhausting as doing something physically, if not more. You were watching us for at least forty minutes, from eighty kilometres away.”

“And I just slept for three hours, whereas you two haven’t yet. You’ve earned a good day’s rest. I’ve got loads of work ahead of me. Two departments, remember?” Q bit into his croissant and made a pleased little noise at the taste.

James glanced at Alec, who just barely shook his head, telling him not to push Q. Alec was still caught up in the high that came after a mission, even such a brief one, and all it took was a hint of something peculiar for his suspicions to turn to outright paranoia. He couldn’t read Q’s motives — not in a way that didn’t contradict the last couple of months — so he wanted to get James out of here and into the safety of their flat, where they could work off the tension privately.

“If you say so,” James said over the crinkle of waxed paper as he found a scone. “I should get Alec home, at any rate, so I can disinfect that scratch.”

Alec muttered under his breath and took a sip of coffee to wash down the bite of teacake. “I’m _fine_.”

James huffed out a laugh. “Enjoy the pastries, Q,” he said, heading for Alec.

“Show me first. Come here, Alec.” Q waved him to approach with one hand and set down his croissant.

Alec shot a glare at James — this was _his_ fault — and went over to just within arm’s reach of Q. “He’s mothering. It doesn’t even hurt,” Alec lied.

“Of course. And head wounds always bleed a lot, even if they’re shallow. But let me see.” Q tugged on his sleeve to get him to bend down.

Sighing, Alec leaned down a few inches. James had put a butterfly closure on the wound — the only one they’d found in the first aid kit in James’ new car. The one alcohol wipe in the kit had dried out, so the wound hadn’t been properly disinfected. “I’m not going to Medical,” Alec warned before Q got any ideas. Medical would want to give him shots and take blood and ask stupid questions with answers he couldn’t give them.

“Of course not. That’s why I want to see it. James, there’s a first aid kit in the break room,” Q hinted as he placed his hands lightly on Alec’s jaw and tilted his head to get a better view.

“Don’t,” Alec said when James took a step towards the break room. “If we’re not taking you home, at least let _us_ go home.”

Q pulled his hands away as if Alec’s skin burned and glanced worriedly at James. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...” He took a deep breath and said, “Of course. But please let Bond see to the cut. That cat was feral, no matter what sort of being it was. I want that to heal well.” He gestured at Alec’s forehead but kept his hands far from touching him.

Alec nodded, even more suspicious now that Q had gone back to last names. Coming here after the mission had been a mistake. There was a damned good reason he and James _always_ disappeared for a few days — or weeks — after an MI6 mission. And because he knew he was being irrational, he made himself politely tell Q, “Get some more rest, if you can.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow morning,” James added, turning to give Alec a questioning look. When Alec started towards the doors, James followed.

Q sounded less than confident as he said, “Of course.” His voice rallied to show his sincerity as he added, “Thank you for last night. Your work was exceptional.”

Alec nodded and escaped before James could be tempted to stick around. A few seconds later, James joined him in the hallway with another questioning look. Alec shook his head, unwilling to talk just yet. He needed the ride home to give him time and distance to think about what Q really wanted from them.


	11. Chapter 11

Once again Q woke to the sound of someone entering his space, and once again he had to stretch and crack his neck because he was on a piece of furniture not meant to be slept on. This time it was TJ, one of his minions in MI6, who woke him from a nap on the sofa in his Q Branch office.

“What? Is 0015 all right?” Q groped for his glasses and sat up, his mind already full of the details from the mission he’d run from almost the moment his MI13 agents left him with tea and pastries until  — he looked at his watch — one and three-quarters hours ago.

“Yes. Just landed. Safe as houses. The last of the intel we gathered is in your inbox.” TJ replied, looking dead on his feet.

“Right. Good. Go home.” Q stood and walked over to his tea kettle to switch it on, but it was empty. He leaned against the counter and yawned. “I’m leaving, too. Back tomorrow evening.”

“I wonder if I might have until Saturday morning, sir.” TJ hid a yawn of his own, and Q blinked, then looked at him closely.

“Your last day off was...?”

“Last Friday, sir.”

“My god. Absolutely. Sleep for a full day. Enjoy it.” For a moment, Q wished he could outsource sleep to TJ as well as a large portion of his monitoring duties for Double O missions. The idea kept him from feeling actively jealous that his minion would be getting more than three hours of sleep at once.

TJ nodded with a smile and said his thanks, then left quietly before anyone caught him to answer a question. Q wanted to sit down at his desk, but realised it had been too long since he’d looked in on his surveillance in MI13. Feeling more than a little bit bleary, he carted himself to the lift and made his way down to the dungeon.

He hadn’t thought of it as a dank dark cave in some time, now that it was so much more populated than before. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to expect his agents would be down there midday on a Friday when Q seemingly hadn’t bothered to show up, but he found he longed to see them. It had happened yesterday morning as well, but that made more sense — after a mission he wanted to be sure they were all right. Alec hadn’t appreciated it, of course, especially when Q found himself needing to touch them. Whether that was for grounding purposes after such an intense scrying session or simply to make sure they were alive and unhurt, he wasn’t sure, but it was obvious it wasn’t welcome. He’d have to keep himself together more, now he had professional agents to work with.

Or _somewhat_ professional.

The two of them were sprawled in the reading room in their T-shirts and their rattiest jeans. Trevelyan had his boots and socks off so he could prop his bare feet on another armchair pulled out of position; Bond was only marginally more professional, in that he was still wearing his boots, though they were resting on the bottom shelf of an endtable. Bond was reading a passage from _Shifters Through the Ages_ while Trevelyan was tossing a knife almost up to ceiling height, then catching it without watching.

He didn’t miss, even when Q interrupted by taking one step inside. Instead, he observed, “You look like hell, Q.”

Q sighed. “You could have stared at me all day without making that observation.” He went further into the room and collapsed into the only free armchair. “I’ve been up in Q Branch all night, guiding 0015 through the end of a mission. Of course I look like hell.”

“I wouldn’t want to guide 0015 through a child’s puzzle,” Bond muttered.

Ignoring the jab at a younger agent, Q said, “Both of you look all right. Alec, how’s your head? May I see?”

“It’s fine,” Trevelyan said without bothering to straighten up, though he did pull back his long blond hair to show his forehead. There were now two butterfly closures across the cut, and it had the slight gloss of ointment.

“I wanted to heal it yesterday, but you...” Q got up and walked unsteadily over to Trevelyan’s chair. “I suppose I should have asked.”

“What?” Trevelyan’s frown made the butterfly closures wrinkle.

“When I asked to see the cut yesterday, I touched you to cast a healing spell on it, but you... said you’d rather go home,” Q answered. Then he looked over at Bond with an apologetic frown. “I didn’t ask when I touched _you_ yesterday, I’m afraid. I just tried to help heal any bruising.”

“You can cast healing spells?” Bond asked, standing. He set aside _Shifters_ , then walked over to Q. “That’s useful.”

“Yes. And yes, it is.” Q looked back over at Trevelyan and reached a hand up but kept it well away from his head. “So, may I?”

“If you can,” Trevelyan said, sitting upright. “You look ready to collapse.”

“I have enough energy for this.” Q smiled faintly as he touched Trevelyan’s forehead, his lips forming the words of the spell. It wasn’t complicated to knit a surface wound together, but he found he wanted to curl up in an armchair the moment he was finished.

“Careful,” Bond said, catching Q’s elbow. He held out his other hand towards Trevelyan. “Keys.”

Trevelyan tipped his head back so he could frown. “Why?”

“Because I’m taking Q home.”

“What do you want _my_ keys for?”

“Because they’re _my_ keys to _my_ car.” Bond twitched his fingers impatiently.

“I don’t want to go home.” Q managed to keep the petulance out of his voice, but only just. He really was tired.

“You’re not staying here,” Bond insisted, catching the keys that Trevelyan finally tossed at him — and then catching the knife that followed. Instead of throwing the knife back, Bond sheathed it under his jacket, the whole time saying, “You need a decent night’s sleep, a hot bath, and about four good meals before you should be let back in here, Q.”

“The pastries kept me going most of the afternoon and evening,” Q mumbled. “And I can’t sleep at home.” He gently tugged his arm free from Bond’s grasp and sat in the armchair that had been Trevelyan’s footrest, not wanting to be banished from their company. It was too quiet at his flat. After falling asleep in the office so often, bustle was much more lulling than silence.

For a moment, he thought Bond and Trevelyan would concede. But then, with a creak of leather and rustle of denim, Trevelyan leaned down to pick up his boots with one hand, then asked, “Did you want to bring the chair? James can put the top down, but it’s raining, so you get to hear him bitch about the upholstery.”

“The chair won’t help. The rain on the roof might do it, but I don’t want to go. Don’t send me away from my own department, Alec.” Q pulled his feet up and curled into a ball, trying not to look at either of them. He didn’t want to know if they were judging him.

“We’re not _sending_ you anywhere,” Bond said, coming up to the other side of Q’s chair. “In your condition, you’d get lost on the way there.”

“And then we’d have to go down to the precinct to retrieve you, and there’d be paperwork and licensing issues,” Trevelyan added unhelpfully.

“Shut up, Alec,” Bond said fondly. “We’re taking you home, Q. With us. We won’t leave you alone.”

“Licensing?” For a moment Q was affronted, thinking Trevelyan meant he was a pet. “I’m not your responsibility. I just need to sleep. Go back to reading; I won’t snore.”

“Up, Q, or we’ll have to carry you, chair and all,” Trevelyan threatened cheerfully. “And we’ll need to take our books with us. Homework, remember?”

“Or to put it more politely, again, we’re taking you home with us,” Bond added.

“James has always wanted a cat. We mentioned that.”

“Christ, _stop helping_ ,” Bond said with a hint of a laugh in his voice.

“You have! And I didn’t let the shifter bite me, so I get points for that. Right?” he asked, prodding Q’s arm and smiling down at him.

Q eyed them both warily. He couldn’t tell what exactly they were playing at. Trevelyan was joking and Bond was being polite, and they both were treating him like a stray. But every other time they’d mentioned something like this it was a come on. This didn’t feel like that, and Q was desperate for the chance to sleep now it had been offered, but he still felt uncertain as to their motives. “I just want to _sleep._ ”

“And you’re going to sleep,” Bond said, reaching down to take gentle hold of Q’s arm. “Alec, get the books.”

“Why do I have to get the books and you get the quartermaster?” Trevelyan protested.

“Because he probably bites.”

“So you’ll be a quartermaster-shifter? What, under the full moon, you’ll give me weapons and make me sign for them?”

Q couldn’t help but smile as Bond pulled him to his feet. They were being ridiculous — too sweet and silly for proper agent/executive interaction. He almost brought it up just to remind them they were still at work, but he didn’t have the heart. Or the energy. “No chance of more weapons, Alec, sorry. I don’t bite.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Trevelyan criticised.

“Alec!” Bond snapped.

“What?” Trevelyan asked innocently. “If he’s going to be _boring_ , we’ll need more books than our one-per-agent limit. Q, how many books can _you_ take out of here?”

“All of them. I’ll let you have three. You can’t read _that_ fast." Q was certain if he let Trevelyan take as many books as he wanted, he’d never see the agent again and the shelves would be empty in a month’s time.

“We _are_ geniuses, you know,” Trevelyan said, bee-lining right for the nearest bookshelf — the one with the spellbooks.

Bond sighed, still holding Q’s arm as if worried he’d collapse at any moment. “Much as I hate to say this, he’s right.”

Q inclined his head in acknowledgement. He’d seen their IQ scores. They weren’t quite to his level, but they were above Mensa’s requirement. “Fine. If you need that much to occupy you, _one_ spellbook and three of theory.”

“Grab the one on alchemy,” Bond told Trevelyan, who sighed.

“But I wanted —”

“No alchemy unless you’ve read _Reality Unmade_ by Rubenstein." Q didn't have it in him to give Bond a stern look. He didn’t even want to be standing. “Quickly, 006, or I’m going to sleep right here.”

“Right, let’s go with that one,” Trevelyan said. “I sometimes like reality. At least, it gives me somewhere to stand while I’m finding new things to ignite.”

“Which is why he’s not cooking us dinner,” Bond muttered softly in Q’s ear.

“I should get back before dinner. I haven’t logged in on my MI13 computer since your mission.” Q felt a stab of guilt that he was right there, not ten meters away, and he wasn’t checking the threat monitor report. He hoped Danielle wouldn’t be too disappointed in him.

“Don’t even try it,” Bond warned, hand tightening on Q’s arm. “Are you done yet, Alec? Q’s getting distracted.”

“All right, all right.” Trevelyan walked over, carrying significantly more than the three or four books Q had earlier approved. “It’s Friday. Are we getting pizza?”

Bond laughed warmly as he led Q towards the doors. “We’ll get pizza, but not on the way home. You can go pick it up later.”

“Then I’ll need to take your car,” Trevelyan said slyly. “Q wouldn’t want me trying to carry pizza on a motorcycle. Would you?”

Of course Q wouldn’t, but it wasn’t his place to say so, as it would effectively make Bond lend Trevelyan his car. “I hope to sleep through it, to be honest,” he hinted. “In fact, I plan on sleeping in the car, if there’s such a thing as a back seat.”

Bond stopped so abruptly that Q almost tripped. “Bugger.”

“I can steal a car from Security,” Trevelyan offered. “One of those big SUVs for secure executive transport.”

“I don’t need to be secure; I need to be seated. If you’re going to make a production —”

“It’s a two-seat Jaguar convertible, Q,” Bond said, grinning. “Even you couldn’t shag someone in it without needing a chiropractor afterwards.”

“Which is why there’s a perfectly good bonnet around front,” Trevelyan added.

“So I’ll take you home, and we’ll let Alec steal a car for himself,” Bond said, ignoring Trevelyan.

“As long as I don’t have to know about it. Home, James. Don’t promise me sleep and then make me wait.” Q was a hair’s breadth away from whinging. He took his glasses off to massage the bridge of his nose.

“All right, Q,” Bond said, wrapping an arm around Q’s shoulders to steer him through the doors and into the hideous tile hallway. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you.”

 

~~~

 

Q slowly regained consciousness in a sea of softness. The surface he was curled up on conformed to his body, the covers over him were fluffy and weighty and warm, and there was a mountain of downy pillows virtually surrounding him. Before his brain had fully come online he was sure he’d been engulfed by an avalanche of marshmallows.

He stretched his arms and legs out carefully, and the surface didn’t end. He was in a bed. A very large, very comfortable bed. He rolled over onto his back and wondered briefly how long he’d been asleep. For the first time in months he hadn’t been woken by an alarm or a person that needed his immediate attention. Something about the weight of his eyelids made him believe it had been a long nap. Longer, possibly, than any night’s sleep he’d had in weeks. He wasn’t even sure if it was still daytime or which day it was.

The room was dark, but light spilled in from under the door, as well as soft motown music filtering through from another room. He took a deep breath and registered pizza sauce and wood smoke on the air. Food and... a fireplace?

He was almost certain he hadn’t had such a luxurious experience in years, if not a decade. And all he’d done was wake up.

He stretched briefly one more time, his hands reaching above his head under the pillow, and that was when he felt his arm strike something hard, making it clink. He groped for whatever it was, instantly discounting the idea of a firearm, given the noise. He was shocked, however, when his fingers closed around a metal ring of some kind.

No, two rings. He pulled them out from under the pillow and squinted at them in the dim light, then rolled over to find his glasses and a lamp. When both were on, he realised he’d found a pair of silver-coated cuffs from his own armoury.

 _Right._ So much for revelling in the lap of luxury. Time to confront his wayward agents.

He dropped the cuffs on the bedside table to start climbing out of bed when he found himself looking at an armchair that had been moved away from the wall just enough to draw his attention. On it was a drab grey MI6 tracksuit, two folded towels, and the fluffiest terrycloth dressing gown Q had ever seen.

It couldn’t hurt to wait just a little while before bringing them to task, could it? In fact, his reprimand would most likely be more effective if he was a bit more put together than he was at the moment — still sleepy in days-old, sleep-rumpled clothes. Besides, the ensuite was bigger than Q’s old bedsit, all done in delicately swirled tan marble with black accents. The shower _had_ to have been custom designed for both of his problem agents to share — there was no other reason for it to be that big. Not that he needed the images that came to mind from that thought, when he was himself naked and both his agents were probably somewhere just outside the bedroom door. He would’ve turned the shower to cold, but that would’ve been a criminal waste of no less than five showerheads. At any rate, endless hot water and billowing steam eventually cleared his head.

When he took one of the fluffy towels off the rack, he discovered the rack doubled as a towel warmer. He almost curled up with it on the bathmat, but for once he wasn’t suffering under his usual low-level fatigue — the sort that meant he could catch a nap anywhere, at any time. He spent a leisurely few minutes drying off instead, then dressed in both the too-large tracksuit and the terrycloth dressing gown. He folded his clothes into a neat little pile and was about to take them back into the bedroom when he noticed the toothbrush, still in its wrapper. He smirked. No one had ever accused Bond of failing to be detail oriented.

 _James._ For gods’ sake, if one has slept in someone’s bed, one should probably feel comfortable calling that person by their first name. Q had a feeling he’d let things slide at certain times, when he was tired or distracted or alarmed — foregoing the more appropriate last name or number designation — but by now, especially in their own home, he should probably let that go and call them James and Alec.

When he’d finished brushing his teeth and had set his clothes on the armchair, under which he found — but didn’t put on — his shoes, he slid the cuffs into the dressing gown pocket and padded to the door. The smell of pizza and woodsmoke was stronger in the hallway — long and narrow, with a windowed reading nook at one end and light at the other. Q followed the light past two more doors, both on the other side of the hall, and into a large open-plan living room, dining room, kitchen, and breakfast nook that all flowed into one another, divided only by furniture or half-height walls.

Alec was sprawled at the near corner of one couch, bare foot braced against the coffee table. He had a slice of pizza in one hand and one of MI13’s books resting on the arm of the sofa. Between bites, he seemed to be trying to decipher old Hebrew, judging by the sound of it.

From somewhere out of sight, Q could barely hear James correcting his pronunciation.

“How the bloody hell do you know?” Alec asked quietly as he made an irritated gesture with the pizza. “There aren’t any vowels.”

“Because what you’re trying to say isn’t even a word,” James said with a little snort of amusement.

“How the fuck do you read this, Q?” Alec held up the book as James sat up and twisted to look to the hallway in surprise. Apparently, he’d been lying on his back, head in Alec’s lap.

“I have a certain facility with languages. It never seemed that difficult,” Q said, walking quietly forward. “Is it late? I’m sorry if I’ve caused you to stay in on a Friday night.”

“Not at all. Something to drink? I’ll get you a plate,” James said as he stood up, then stepped over Alec’s legs so he could get to the kitchen.

“Erm, thank you, James. Maybe water first. Then tea, if you have it?” Q took a few steps to follow James, then looked back at Alec, who frowned up at him.

“Scotch?” he offered Q. “It’s nearly the same colour as tea —”

“I have tea,” James yelled from the kitchen. “Stop helping.”

“ _You_ have tea?” Alec asked, dropping the book on the endtable so he could lean forward and stare in James’ direction in shock.

“Have you ever searched the kitchen beyond the refrigerator?”

Alec frowned. “Well, no.”

Q shook his head in amusement at the two of them. “Don’t trouble yourself, James. For once, I don’t need the caffeine.”

The rustle of plastic stopped, and James came to look over the L-shaped island that separated the kitchen from the rest of the great room. “Decaf?” he offered.

Alec muttered something under his breath and also got up, heading for the bar.

“No, really. I’m fine. Just a glass of water will do.” Q watched Alec pour himself a glass of vodka, then stepped closer to the kitchen island to add, “I didn’t mean to interrupt study time, but I very much appreciate being given the opportunity to sleep. Thanks for that.”

“You probably need more sleep,” James said as he picked up a box — one of two — from the counter by the stove. He slid it across the island to Q. Twinings Earl Grey tea, decaf. Still wrapped in plastic.

As James turned to the fridge, Q shrugged and looked closely at the box. It had little to no scent to it, even after he’d unwrapped it, and he wondered how long it had been in the cupboard. “Possible, but not probable. I’ve been getting by on around four or five hours for months. I think my body has adapted and wouldn’t know what to do with loads more all at once.”

“Decaf tea, dinner, and then back to bed,” James decided, reaching back to set a bottle of water on the counter. He opened a cupboard door and took down a glass. “Ice?”

“It’s his first scotch of the evening, so maybe,” Alec said, sneaking up behind Q to set a smaller glass beside him.

Q started at Alec’s sudden appearance, then smiled at the surfeit of hospitality they were providing in the form of drinkable liquids. “Erm, yes. Ice for the scotch, thanks.” Q climbed onto a stool, then took the glass from James and poured water into it.

“Sleep all right?” Alec asked as he circled the island and went for another cupboard that proved to have plates in it.

“Yes, thanks. Your bed is extremely comfortable.” It had almost been too quiet for Q to fall asleep, except he’d been exhausted and his body hadn’t been able to fight the sheer comfort of the bed. Also, the agents had put on music in the next room; that and their deep, genial voices filtering in had helped to lull Q to unconsciousness. Once gone, and without an interruption, it seemed he’d slept for close to eight hours.

“ _My_ bed,” James said, eyeing Alec, who huffed and walked past him without a second glance. Turning back to Q, James said, “ _Someone_ spilled coffee on my bed after M sold it off.”

“After which it was _my_ bed,” Alec said, “so stop your bitching. And you’re welcome for keeping it from getting binned.”

“It _did_ get binned!”

“But not by a stranger. Doesn’t count. Pepperoni or sausage, Q?”

“Either is fine. And whoever’s bed it is, thank you for the use of it.” Q took a drink of his water and failed at banishing images of both of his agents sharing that bed later tonight.

“Oh, it’s all mine now,” James said dryly, though Q looked up at just the right moment to catch the fond smile on James’ face. “I eventually replaced everything after moving in here.”

“Except the car,” Alec said. “You hate the new one.”

James sighed. “I liked that bloody Aston Martin. Boothroyd ‘upgraded’ it, you know,” he added to Q. “All sorts of tricks. Still no proper back seat, though.”

Q nodded. “I remember. We used to joke about other upgrades to make. Once we drafted how to make it convert itself into a boat — or more of an inflatable hydroplane — just for laughs. He thought you’d like that.”

“That would’ve been wonderful, if it didn’t completely fail on the first try driving the poor thing into the Thames.” James’ fond smile returned, and he leaned on the island, asking, “Did you ever hear how I acquired that car? M was bloody furious that I had it shipped back to London from Jamaica.”

“I never did, no. But if I’d made the upgrade, it wouldn’t have failed.” Q couldn’t help but smile at some of Boothroyd’s old designs — the theory was good, but his follow-through was sometimes a bit shit.

“Really? Once I settle on a car —” James cut off with a surprised blink as Alec returned and slid at least three huge slices of pizza, piled one atop the other, in front of Q. “Don’t expect him to save room for dessert.”

“He’s starving,” Alec said as he sat down on the next stool over. “Look at him. He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t eat. Without us, he’d probably be half-dead.”

“Here, I do all right on my own,” Q retorted, only mock-offended. It really did feel good to have them take care of him, even if it was slightly absurd to see his deadliest Double O agents mother him so. He smiled at Alec as the smell of the pizza hit him, and he felt his stomach react. “But I _am_ hungry. Thank you, Alec.”

Grinning proudly, Alec turned to James. “See? _He_ appreciates me.”

James laughed. “Because you’ve never lit anything of his on fire.”

“Not mine personally, but a certain desk does come to mind...” Q hinted as he picked up a piece of sausage pizza and took a bite.

“Well, you can’t like James better,” Alec told Q. “I’m nicer.”

“I let you live with me every time you get thrown out of another flat,” James pointed out.

Without losing a beat, Alec said, “All right, he’s nicer, but I’m more fun.”

Q smiled at them both as he chewed and swallowed before responding, “I try not to play favourites, so there should be no competition.”

“Everyone has favourites. You’re just too nice to say so, like James,” Alec said with a grin. “It’s all right. You both like me more than anyone else.”

“You’re like a damned puppy,” James said, finally breaking down with laughter.

Q grinned wide at the idea of Alec as a big, clumsy, large-footed puppy, tail wagging and tongue hanging out, knocking people over in his enthusiasm. He could see why James liked him — loved him? — so much. He made eye contact with James and said, “I guess we must keep him, then. Train him up. I’m afraid you spoil him a bit too much, though.”

“Oi,” Alec protested. “I kill people for you two.”

“And you do a damned fine job at it. Want a treat?” Q offered thoughtlessly.

Alec’s expression turned sly, and he gave Q a look that made it clear, at least for a moment, that yes, he did — and not a biscuit or piece of pizza, either. But then he glanced at James, who’d turned away, and instead he snatched a piece of sausage off Q’s pizza. “No, thanks. I’m good,” Alec said with a quick, friendly grin before he slid off his stool. He used the sausage to point at Q’s scotch. “Refill?”

“Not yet, thanks.” Q looked over at James, suddenly wondering if he’d offended James — or simply hurt him — by inadvertently flirting with his friend. Damn Tanner and his theories. “James? What are you drinking?”

James smiled at Q. “Alec knows.”

“‘Alec knows’?” Alec quoted from over by the bar. “Do I look like your waiter?”

“You look like Q’s,” James said, nodding at the pizza in front of Q.

Alec huffed and went back to pouring himself a drink. “He’s the guest. Hell, _I’m_ the guest. You’re a bloody awful host.”

“After a week, you’re a nuisance, not a guest,” James said.

“I’ve been here for eight months.”

“Infestation, then?” James asked, looking at Q. “Corporeal haunting? Help me out here, Q.”

“I rather thought he’d be sort of the live-in pest control. But maybe he’s just more of a pest. It’s a wonder you haven’t thrown him out.” Q smiled broadly at Alec, who seemed, under his petulant frown, to be enjoying the ribbing.

“Most hazardous rent boy imaginable,” James said in a serious tone of voice, though he shot a smirk Q’s way.

Alec barked out a laugh. “If that’s the case, your prices just doubled, arse.”

James sighed. “I’ll need a pay rise, Q.”

“Start earning your keep, like the other night, and I’ll see what I can do.” Q smiled at James until he realised how what he’d said sounded; then his expression wavered a bit uncertainly.

“If you two are going to go shag, I’m” — Alec cut off, and for a single heartbeat, he shot James a look that was almost apologetic — “finishing the pizza.”

“I meant the mission.” Q shut his mouth, realising clarification at this point was unnecessary and possibly hurtful, but there it was. He looked tentatively at James, who just sighed and looked back down at the counter.

“Sorry, Q. After missions...” James shrugged and nodded to Alec, who brought over two drinks, rather than just one for himself.

“It _is_ the weekend,” Alec said. That got a faint smile from James.

“‘After missions’, what?” Q wasn’t following, and he was sure it would help clear things up if he did, but he winced once he’d asked. Maybe he wasn’t meant to know.

“We put aside any... formality,” Alec said a little evasively.

James snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Well, he _knows_ we do stupid shit, like hijacking boats to go sailing for two weeks without calling the home office first.”

“ _Now_ he does.”

Q smiled wryly. “I’m not an idiot, James. And I’m not above scrying for MI6 purposes when necessary.” He took a sip of his scotch before continuing. “Besides, boats are so predictable for you.”

“I hijacked a train once,” James told Q.

“Ice cutter, though that’s a sort of boat,” Alec said thoughtfully. “We’ve both done submarines. Never hijacked an aircraft carrier. Why haven’t we done an aircraft carrier?”

“Because nobody’s stupid enough to let us near one?” James suggested.

Alec turned to Q with an engaging smile. “There’s got to be a haunted carrier that needs our expertise. Sailors are bloody superstitious buggers.”

“Just another big boat. Quite a bit larger than your usual size, but still...” Q looked over at James with one eyebrow cocked.

Slyly, James offered, “Would you like us to bring you an aircraft carrier, Q?”

“In lieu of flowers? I’d prefer another box of pastries — less hassle, more sugar.” Q took a bite of his second piece of pizza, hoping if he kept his mouth full he wouldn’t be able to stick his foot in it.

“An aircraft carrier gives us fighter jets,” Alec said thoughtfully, stealing another piece of Q’s pepperoni. “Then we could get pastries from anywhere in the world in just a few hours, with proper refueling.”

“Alec _likes_ fighter jets,” James said with a grin. “I know you’re probably shocked to hear that, Q.”

“If you ever bring a fighter jet home, I’ll disown you, Alec.” Q smirked and added, “Or you’ll at least get a sharp rap on the nose.”

“I wouldn’t steal one of _our_ fighters,” Alec protested. “No bloody challenge in that.”

“Before he starts plotting to rob SpaceX,” James cut in, “can I get you anything else, Q? Something less military?”

For a split second, Q almost blurted out _a back rub,_ but he caught himself in time. He straightened up on the stool to keep from exacerbating the pain caused from hunching over his desk and said thoughtfully, “I can’t think of anything. Sleep, food, water, a hot shower, pleasant company... I’m content.”


	12. Chapter 12

Having Q here in the flat was... well, comfortable. More comfortable than James might have expected, considering he still hadn’t managed to put aside his feelings for Q, despite Alec’s best efforts to offer himself up as a distraction. But this wasn’t bad at all.

After Q had eaten two and a half slices of pizza, with Alec’s help, they moved back to the couch. This time, it was James’ turn to sit somewhat self-consciously in one corner, with Alec sprawled across three cushions like a giant cat, leaving Q to take an armchair rather than fitting himself on the sofa or loveseat.

“Pass Q that book, will you?” Alec prompted, looking upside-down at James. “Make him pencil in the vowels.”

“I suspect he doesn’t want to write in his own spellbooks,” James said, picking up the spellbook from the endtable as he caught Q’s eye.

Q smiled at James and shook his head, not bothering to even move from his armchair. “Without vowels you can’t cast the spells. Why would I make it easier for you to burn the house down?”

“But you wanted me to learn it,” Alec said, giving Q that wide-eyed look that James knew all too well — the one that warned of danger and fire in the near future. The one James could never resist.

“Yes, and I’m happy to teach you. But I won’t make it easier for you to wreak havoc on James’ flat in my absence.” Q spoke mildly and still had a smile on his face for Alec, but damned if James knew how he managed to say no.

Apparently, Alec didn’t understand it, either. His eyes narrowed a bit, and he said, “I still need vowels, even if I’m _not_ lighting anything in here on fire.”

“Which you’re not,” James said, switching the book to his other hand so he could drop it on Alec’s chest. It wasn’t huge, but it was a substantial enough hardcover that Alec winced. “Besides, you read Hebrew. You were in Israel for months.”

“Not consecutively. And these _aren’t_ proper words,” Alec complained, opening the book. He propped it up and got comfortable again, using James’ thigh as a headrest. He paged through and chose a word seemingly at random, though James knew he had a near-photographic memory for every page he’d read — or tried to read. “Look. No matter what vowels you stick in there, it’s gibberish.”

James had to tip the book back so he could see the page clearly. It was a confusing mix of English and Hebrew, one that left him struggling to switch his reading from left-to-right and vice versa, but he finally saw what Alec was saying.

“I hate to admit it, Q...” James glanced over at him. “He’s right. These aren’t words.”

“Then perhaps they don’t want to be spoken.” Q slowly got up from his seat and stepped over to the couch to peer down at the page. “Hmm. Yes. Of course you would choose the most difficult spell in the book.” He sat on the edge of the coffee table to get a closer look as Alec tilted the book in his direction.

“Is it a code?” Alec asked. He tipped his head back and grinned up at James. “Should be easy enough, if it is.”

James laughed, affectionately resting his hand on Alec’s chest, though he automatically used the book to block Q’s line-of-sight to the touch. Concealment. It was probably unnecessary, but there was no point flaunting their relationship in front of Q. Well, not any more than they already had. This wasn’t exactly a two-bedroom flat.

“If it’s a code, don’t tell us,” James said with a grin of his own. “We’ll decipher it.”

“That’s another one of our special talents,” Alec said proudly.

“Ah. No, not quite. Have you learned about obfuscation charms yet?” Q looked up from the book with a smile, pushing his glasses up his nose. His gaze took in them both, but James assumed the question was directed at Alec. He was the one obsessed with spellcasting.

“No.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, even Q has to know that’s a lie,” James said with a sigh.

Alec glared up at James. “I couldn’t decide if a yes or no would get me more information.” He turned to look at Q, adding, “You’re too hard to read in a dressing gown. All... _fluffy._ ”

Q looked down at himself, then back up at Alec, his expression stern, but his ears decidedly more pink than before. “And lying on your back using your boyfriend as a pillow is not the ideal position from which to cast a spell.”

James couldn’t help but look down and meet Alec’s eyes. For all the years they’d been working together, sleeping together, and killing together — often on the same night — they’d never actually _codified_ what they were doing with each other. To hear it from someone else was awkward enough without that someone being Q. Adorable, fluffy-gowned, not-so-abrasive-after-all Q.

“If you’re my boyfriend, I want a bloody key to the flat,” Alec said, cutting right through the bullshit, as always.

Surprised that Alec wouldn’t even protest — after all, that had been James’ first instinct — James thought about it for all of a heartbeat before saying, “No. Next, you’ll want keys to my car.”

“You hate your car.”

“I don’t _hate_ it. It’s just not an Aston Martin.”

Alec rolled his eyes and looked to Q. “Will you tell him that suspension — or lack of it — isn’t meant to test an agent’s fortitude or whatever shit he thinks? The Aston Martin bounced like an angry camel over the least little pothole.”

Q sat back with a guarded smile and said, “No, that’s his affair. But I’ll tell you how to lift an obfuscation charm, if you like.”

“Or we could lock him in the loo, steal his car keys, and nip down to the dealership to acquire a _modern_ Aston Martin with computerised adaptable suspension,” Alec suggested.

“Of all the people on the planet, you’re trying to make _Q_ a criminal?” James asked with a laugh.

“No, I’m enlisting our executive in stopping you from making a shit decision and wrecking both our backs. Q’s practically duty bound to help me. Her Majesty’s security and all that rubbish.”

Q blinked, then said thoughtfully, “If you sleep in that bed every night, you could do quite a lot to your back during the day before it would end up ruined.”

The thought that Q liked their bed — and the reminder that he’d been _in_ their bed — silenced James for far too long. He looked down at Alec, wondering why in hell he was interested in anyone else when he already had someone who was such a big part of his life. Q was a complication waiting to happen, but James _still_ caught himself staring and wondering and... well, _wanting_.

Worse, Alec knew it — James read it in his eyes — and he didn’t mind. He was too bloody _perfect_ for James to even be jealous. Or maybe he was just certain that James wouldn’t throw him out. _Couldn’t_ throw him out. Christ, if he ever even came close to being forced to pick one or the other, he’d just jump out the window and avoid the whole mess.

Clearing his throat as if embarrassed, Q rose as if to leave, and James said, “No.” He even went so far as to lift his hand — the one that wasn’t still resting on Alec’s chest — though he caught himself before he could reach for Q. The shock of that impulse jarred his brain back into gear, and he looked down at the book, saying, “Sorry. We keep getting sidetracked.”

Alec looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah. We do,” he said suspiciously, though he probably sounded normal enough to Q. “But we may as well get back to the obfuscation spell, I suppose. If Q’s still willing.”

“All right.” Both of Q’s eyebrows were raised, and he was looking from one to the other of them, but he sounded unperturbed when he said, “I expect you’ll both need to know this. Sit up.”

“But I’m comfortable,” Alec said, remaining stubbornly where he was — at least until James stood up fast enough to almost dump him off the sofa.

“Drinks, anyone?” James offered innocently, hiding a smirk at Alec’s indignant glare.

“Yes, thanks. But that’s my limit.” Q stood and stretched, then took the spellbook from Alec and set it on the coffee table.

“We’re not done with that,” Alec warned, finally sitting up, though only so he could reach for the spellbook.

“I’m aware,” Q said frostily and smacked Alec’s hand lightly. James snickered and, satisfied Q could manage Alec without help, went to go get them all refills. Q continued, “It’s the object of the bloody spell. I want it where all three of us can concentrate on it.”

“You could always sit here with us,” Alec invited just a touch unprofessionally. “James keeps telling me coffee tables aren’t for sitting, after all.”

Shocked that Alec was actually going there — with Q — James nearly pointed out that he’d said _fucking_ , not _sitting_ before he realized what a horrendous mistake that would be. As it was, he ended up filling one glass far too much. Deciding that maybe his subconscious was on to something, he poured doubles for all of them. He suspected they were going to need it.

“Yes, all right. If I’m in the middle, facing the same direction, you can both follow me better.”

“You’ve done this before,” Alec said slyly.

There was a tiny pause before Q’s voice carried softly over to James. “Actually, I haven’t. One doesn’t often have the opportunity to teach magic to anyone.”

James let out his breath and capped the scotch quietly, thinking he was going to have to have a talk with Alec. Get him to back off.

“James and I have had to work together with others before. We’ve shared quite a few missions, objectives, people, that sort of thing,” Alec said, undeterred by Q’s formality. “Just follow our lead.”

 _Get him to back off now_ , James thought, picking up two of the three glasses. When he turned around to intervene — possibly to pour one glass on Alec’s head — he saw Q had stopped still in front of the couch as if frozen in place.

Shockingly, he still managed to say, “Not now, Alec. Now’s when you must listen to what I tell you.”

“Oh? Is _that_ what you’d —”

“Here,” James said, though it came out more like a barked command. He nearly splashed scotch all over Alec in his effort to interrupt and distract them both.

“Thank you, James,” Q said as he took his glass. “Are you ready? Or am I only showing this to Alec?” He didn’t break eye contact, as if wanting to keep James close.

“Ready when you are.” Abandoning all thoughts of getting his own drink, James hurried around the couch and sat down against the arm, leaving as much room between himself and Alec as he could — in part so Q wouldn’t feel crowded and in part so James himself wouldn’t smack Alec in the head if he didn’t stop throwing innuendos.

“Right. Good.” Q sat down exactly between them in a manner James could only describe as prim, but without the disapproval. He didn’t act awkwardly, but James couldn’t tell if he was uncomfortable or simply slipping into a formal teaching mode.

Thankfully, the spell to remove the obfuscation was more complicated than a focused will and a few words or gestures, in part because the obfuscation itself was a cipher woven into the text. Every spell in the book was similarly obfuscated, in fact, and had to be individually deciphered. There was a knack to it, though, and after Q walked them through the third one, they figured out the fourth on their own. And once their thinking shifted enough to grasp the deeper method behind the obfuscation, deciphering was less a matter of casting a decryption spell and more a matter of seeing the writing in a different way.

“I think you two have the idea of it,” Q said, leaning forward to set the book on the table beside his now empty glass as he rose. “Excuse me a moment.”

James was tempted to stop him, but if Q wanted to leave... well, James couldn’t blame him. Not after Alec’s abrupt shift in behaviour earlier. So instead, feeling cold inside, he watched as Q went down the hall to the master bedroom — presumably to change into his street clothes.

As soon as the door closed, James turned on Alec, quietly demanding, “What the bloody hell was that?”

Alec snorted in disgust and picked up the book. “You want him,” he said equally quietly. “Even now, after the last two months, you still want him.”

James nearly denied it, but he knew trying to lie to Alec was rarely worth the effort. Even without the psychic connection they shared, they knew each other too well for that sort of nonsense. “Fine,” he admitted in a grudging whisper. “I want him. Look at him. Of course I want him. But that doesn’t bloody well mean we have to _act_ on it.”

“Doesn’t it? You’re not going to get him out of your system until you can _have_ him. And I’m sick to death of you pining after him.”

 _“I am not_ — _”_ James cut off and pushed up from the couch. He went to get his abandoned drink and hissed, “Stop.”

The leather sofa creaked as Alec twisted around and leaned against the back of it. “No. He’s not running, so maybe he feels the same bloody way you do.”

“Or he doesn’t want to lose the only two agents Mallory will give him.” The bitter truth of that hit like a punch to the gut, one not even a healthy swallow of scotch could ease.

Alec shrugged, uncaring. “He’s also not saying no.”

“I am.”

Alec’s eyes narrowed. “Are you _really?_ Tell me you don’t want him.”

James huffed out a breath and looked down into his glass. “Tell me why I’m not throwing you out.”

“Because one, I’d just break in again, and two, I’m apparently your boyfriend.”

“Christ,” James muttered, taking another drink. “You don’t actually _want_ to be my boyfriend, do you?”

Alec shrugged. “Does it change anything between us?”

James sighed and pushed away from the bar. “No. I can’t imagine anything _ever_ changing between us,” he said softly.

Alec watched as James sat down, no longer pressed close to the armrest. “Are you going to” — his lip curled distastefully, and he almost visibly cringed at what he was saying — “leave me for Q?”

Nearly choking on that, James said, “I hardly think so.”

“So then? Why can’t we have him?”

“Is this a ‘we’ thing now?”

Alec shrugged. “I told you that first night we were transferred to MI13, I like him well enough. And I’m certainly not going to throw him out of bed with us.”

Sighing, James leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. “And if — _when_ — he tells us no, then has us thrown out of both MI13 and MI6?”

Another shrug. “We rob your bank and retire to Florida, taking monster-hunting jobs whenever we get bored.”

James frowned at Alec. “Florida? Really, Alec?”

“Where else would the Americans keep their monsters? Besides, when we get bored, there’s Disney and that Harry —”

“Harry Potter amusement park. Right,” James said with another sigh. “Do you actually think you can pull this off?”

“Have you ever known me to fail on a mission?”

“He’s a mission now?”

“No. You are, because you’re a surly bastard when you’re moping. _He’s_ my brilliant plan to get the old James back.”

Frowning even more, James asked, “How is that fair to him?”

“Because if it fails and you’re lost, he’ll have me as a boyfriend.” Alec grinned. “And I’m bloody incredible. Otherwise, _you_ wouldn’t want me half as much as you do.”

 

~~~

 

Q sat on the armchair in the bedroom with his phone in his hand, and began scrolling through his work email as if he were looking at it. He wasn’t. He’d left the room to grab his phone from his trouser pocket so he could check the time and take stock for a moment. He needed to decide if maybe he should leave. He’d halfway hoped there would be an emergency email that would call him away, but it was an oddly quiet night at Q Branch as far as he could tell.

That was both disappointing and a relief. The sleep had been necessary, and after loads of pizza and two drinks — almost three, given the second pour — he could probably sleep again soon. But it wasn’t appropriate to assume he could do that here, and unless he could figure out how to make his sterile, silent flat feel inviting, he’d probably end up back on the Q Branch sofa. And that was just depressing, especially after such a lovely evening.

Of course even if he was allowed to stay with the Chaos Twins, the odds of actually sleeping had suddenly diminished in the last twenty minutes, though Q was confused as to why James was still keeping his distance. It was almost exclusively Alec who was flirting with him. Unless Tanner had read everything backwards somehow, that didn’t make any sense.

Not that the innuendos from Alec were unwelcome — after all, he was just as eye-catching as James, and his stubborn enthusiasm ended up more charming than exasperating at least half the time. Q had just been certain, as recently as a few days ago, that Alec wanted nothing to do with him. And now James didn’t seem particularly inviting, past his stellar, polite hospitality. Q couldn’t decide if they were both attracted to him or neither of them were or if the attraction sort of flitted between them through whatever connection they shared.

And that made Q wonder if this would be an all or nothing situation. _Gods, what a hot idea._ There was no way they both actually wanted him. This was just a product of feeling close to them after sleeping in their bed. Q knew better — his psychometry picked up emotions from random objects when he was tired or unfocused. He was simply feeling the emotions they had for each other, not him. Another depressing thought, but one that was much more probable.

Something inside him whispered, _be sure before you walk out_.

Psychometry wouldn’t help him with that, but there were other spells in his arsenal. He swiped his fingertips across his phone, blanking the screen, rather than opening any of his apps. His next swipe made the phone hum with energy that was only marginally related to electricity. The drain wasn’t substantial, but he stayed seated all the same.

The phone acted as his focus, a logical step for this particular spell. He set it to his ear as he visualised the front room. His two agents. The sound of their voices — Alec’s slightly deeper tones, with a snarky edge, and Bond’s refined diction and wary but amused tone.

“— think so,” James said disbelievingly a moment later, his voice carried through the spell and into the phone’s electronic speaker as if he were on a live call.

“So then? Why can’t we have him?” Alec asked in a perfectly reasonable tone, though Q’s heart skipped. Was _he_ the ‘him’ in question? He couldn’t imagine who else they could be talking about.

“Is this a ‘we’ thing now?”

“I told you that first night we were transferred to MI13, I like him well enough. And I’m certainly not going to throw him out of bed with us.”

Q realised two things simultaneously as he listened to Alec, and they both took his breath. One, his agents were definitely talking about _him,_ and two, there was only one bed in this flat. If he stayed much longer, that was where this evening was headed — sharing the _two_ of them, _not_ towards more sleep.

“And if — _when_ — he tells us no, then has us thrown out of both MI13 and MI6?”

Q took the phone from his ear and stared at the floor. Did James think so little of him that he assumed Q would have them sacked for — what? — propositioning him? They sounded like they wanted him, even when they were by themselves and not flirting with him for some ulterior motive. To hear _that_ in stark relief was confounding but apparently true.

It had been easier to handle when it could be explained away as a bit of fun. To know there was a very real possibility that everything they’d implied to him was genuine, that was... exciting. Terrifying. Appetising.

Of course, _now_ he had to go back out there and act like nothing was different. Or perhaps not. James was probably right that it was a horrible idea and very unprofessional, but at the moment, Q didn’t care. He’d been trying to deny his infatuation with both of them for two months — a lot longer for James — while dealing with both blatant flirtation and overly polite distance.

He just wanted something to hold onto when it came to his interactions with them both. Knowing what it felt like to be with them would help. Just this once, when he could claim exhaustion if need be, he would allow himself this.

Mind made up, he stood and put his phone down on top of his street clothes, then headed back into the main room. He tried to make enough noise that they would know he was coming and discontinue any conversation they didn’t want him to overhear.

They were sitting on the sofa, closer together than they’d been before, though Q couldn’t tell if they’d been touching and had moved apart when they’d heard him close the bedroom door. Alec had the spellbook resting open on one leg, where James could also see the pages. They both looked over, taking in the tracksuit and dressing gown he still wore, though Alec was more blatant about it.

“If you need to sleep, you should go back to bed,” James said, straightening up when his eyes met Q’s. “However long you need...”

“Thank you, but I feel bad keeping you from your own bed.” Q moved to the sofa and touched the arm closest to James. “And it’s awfully quiet in there.”

James was staring up at Q. He was too much of a damned agent, though, for Q to get even a hint of what he was thinking or feeling. And before he could say anything, Alec offered, “Want some company, then?”

James shot Alec a look — not that Alec seemed to regret his blatant wording at all. With a faint sigh, James turned back to Q and said, “Or you can lock the door, and I’ll shoot him if he goes for the lockpicks.”

Q smiled at their good agent/bad agent routine and asked, “May I just sit with you for a while?”

“Of course,” James said, glancing at the armchair, though a moment later, he moved towards the middle of the couch, until his leg was pressed up against Alec’s.

Was James trying to make it so Q didn't feel surrounded? Or was he being protective? And if the latter, which one of them did he feel the need to protect?

Q took the open space next to him, but then felt odd that they were all in a line. He turned a bit to fit himself into the corner, pulling his leg up onto the sofa and tucking it under himself so he could face them better. “Still working on deciphering the book? Or have you found a spell you want to practice?”

“Practicing with the obfuscation spell,” Alec said, also turning a bit so he could slide the book onto James’ lap. “It’ll be more efficient if we don’t even have to pause when we’re reading it.”

“I assume this sort of spell is used in other books as well?” James asked.

“Yes. And there are a great many ways to go about it. The trick of lifting the spell is understanding how it works with the language of the original text, but that can vary by region or even individual.” Q leaned forward to point to the book in James’ lap and make eye contact with Alec. “This charm wasn’t very hard for you because of your familiarity with Hebrew. One cast on, say, a Japanese text might give you more trouble, even when you’re quite good at lifting the spell on this book.”

“We were stationed in Japan for... What?” James asked, glancing at Alec.

“Two, two and a half years, I think,” Alec said. “With the Americans.”

James grinned suddenly. “Does _that_ count as stealing a submarine, too?”

Alec laughed. “I think it’s mutiny, since we convinced the captain to help us.”

“Or piracy.”

Q had been smiling at his underestimation of his agents, and then at their ridiculous showing off for him, but when James turned as he mentioned pirates with the full force of his grin levelled point blank at Q... Well, it was somewhat breathtaking. He couldn’t help staring, particularly at the creases around James’ mouth and eyes — the ones that only showed when he was in a very good humour.

“Pirates,” he answered a little breathlessly. “Of course you are. Never know what’s yours to take, do you?”

“Whatever it takes to get the job done,” Alec said innocently.

James didn’t roll his eyes, but Q could see the urge was there. “Or whatever catches your eye, or seems entertaining, or —”

“It’s one of those necessary job-related skills! Identification and acquisition of tactical assets.”

“Is _that_ how I ended up here?” Q was mildly surprised at himself for saying that, but he couldn’t help but smirk at the reaction it got.

Alec shot Q a shark-like grin. “Oops.”

James sank back into the couch, laughing. “Did you plan on being hunted for kidnapping an MI6 executive, or are we just making this up as we go along?”

“Professionals call it improvisation. Plus Q’s useful. Get him on our side, and the three of us could disappear. Right, Q?”

“Literally? Possible. But doesn’t it stop being a kidnapping when the subject goes willingly?” Q shifted position slightly to be a hair closer to James.

“We have handcuffs,” Alec said as his grin returned.

Of course they did. Q suddenly remembered that they were in his dressing gown pocket and pulled them out to show the agents, a mock-stern look on his face. “Ah, yes. You do.”

“You brought your own?” Alec asked with innocence that was actually believable — or would have been, if Q hadn’t found the restraints _in their bed_.

James, though... It might have been Q’s imagination or the heat from the fireplace, but a hint of a _blush_ showed in James’ face. It was gorgeous.

“Funnily enough, they _are_ mine, but do you know where I happened to find them?” Q looked directly at Alec, allowing James a moment to recover.

“Er...” Alec glanced at James, who was rubbing a hand over his forehead and glaring down at the book. “Over the showerhead?”

Everything stopped for Q as the image of Alec — naked and wet and bound with his hands over his head — flashed before his eyes. He blinked to rid himself of it before the heat low in his gut brought the blood rushing southward, and instead of being able to breathe again, he was confronted with James in the same position. Q didn’t quite gasp, but it was a near thing, because in a moment it wasn’t just his imagination anymore.

Once he wondered which one of them wore the cuffs, he could feel the answer in the metal itself. The moment of panic as they were clamped on. Gratitude for a reassuring presence, nearby but not touching. The calm and trust that came with not being alone. And finally, the heady arousal at being kept safe and close... They were all James’ emotions.

This was way too much — crossing a line. Much more so than a quick moment of eavesdropping on a conversation, this was knowing the deepest intimacy between two people. He dropped the cuffs onto the book in James’ lap and swallowed so he could answer, “Your bed. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...” He couldn’t look at either of them.

“No. It’s — You can take them back,” James said, sounding embarrassed. “We—”

“Or put them on,” Alec said casually. Q, surprised into looking at Alec, just blinked at him. James turned a fierce glare on Alec, who shrugged and said, “Kidnapping, remember? We may as well observe protocols for once.”

“Have you forgotten the ‘come willingly’ part? Besides, I wouldn’t put these on without knowing where the key was.” Q said, focusing on the logic instead of the implications of his argument.

“Oh, we don’t have that,” Alec said almost sweetly. “What do you think we are? Thieves?”

“You don’t have... You _pick_ these locks? By hand?” Q looked from Alec to the cuffs then back. They were made of iron under their coating of silver so they were almost impossible to spellcast open. Even Q needed the key for them.

“We’re very talented.”

James finally seemed to regain his composure. “I’m sorry, Q. We really did need to practice picking the locks, though. It’s not safe to carry restraints without knowing how to escape them.”

“Well thought, James.” Q had less than no desire to reprimand them for this indiscretion. Even before being brought into their home, he wouldn’t have made a kerfuffle about this sort of thing, apart from making sure they didn’t lose the equipment. It had been Danielle’s outrage that had made him write the email after their first mission, asking for them to be left behind. But now, after having felt what his agents had done with it, he definitely didn’t want to take that from them. Q’s fingers itched to touch the cuffs again, but he knew that was both selfish and unwise. Instead he waved them away casually. “Carry on, then, until you’re quite good at it. As long as you don’t lose or break them...”

“We could teach you,” Alec offered, picking up the cuffs with one finger.

 _Oh._ Q actually very much wanted that — both for practical purposes and for how hot it made him to simply imagine watching the two of them work with the cuffs. He was so very good at restraining himself internally that he’d never thought about using a physical object to keep himself from getting what he wanted. But these two... What else would keep them from acting upon their urges except force? Or, he reminded himself, the apparent iciness of their quartermaster.

He took a deep breath and said, “Yes. Please.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

Alec and James had long since learned to put aside jealousy and recognize each other’s strengths, but that didn’t make it any easier for James to watch as Alec guided Q’s fingers in manipulating the lockpicks, or to listen to their low voices discussing pressure and movements.

James had no luck in distracting himself with the spellbook that he’d carried over to the armchair. Every time he’d look down, a lockpick would go flying or Q would laugh or Alec would say something in his deep, pretending-to-be-clever-but-actually-being-seductive voice, and James wouldn’t remember a bloody thing he’d read for the last ten minutes.

Finally, James got up and went to the kitchen to find a snack — not that he was hungry, but food would distract him. Hell, if he cooked something, he could waste as much as an hour, which was surely long enough for this impromptu lesson to end. It wasn’t as if Q had never picked a lock, though these locks were admittedly far more difficult than most.

Just thinking about those bloody locks made James pause and take a couple of deep breaths, pushing down the instinctive panic any Double O would feel at being restrained.

He found himself staring at the massive steel espresso machine that he and Alec were both too lazy to use. Irish coffee, he decided. The caffeine would balance out at least some of the alcohol they’d been drinking — hopefully before any of them could make any stupid decisions.

A flip of the switch turned on the pump and heating element. Working in-country for MI13 meant he’d actually gone grocery shopping, so there was fresh cream in the refrigerator. He had to dig to find a bowl and the mixer, and one of the whisk attachments looked as if it had been corroded — Alec’s fault, no doubt — so he hadn’t even begun to prepare the whipped cream when Q called, “James! Come see!”

James turned to see Q holding up a hand, silver cuff locked around one wrist, and that was all it took for his imagination to catch fire with thoughts of those cuffs locked around _both_ wrists. And having Alec there next to Q made it that much worse, because Alec had a sweetly dominant streak that James, at least, couldn’t resist. Only he’d happily forego being the subject of Alec’s attention to watch Q take his place instead.

As if oblivious to James’ swirling thoughts, Q lowered his hand and, with a click as loud as a gunshot, closed the second cuff around his other wrist. “Lockpicks,” he said, twitching his fingers at Alec.

Drawn by the need to see, James stepped quietly out of the kitchen, drinks forgotten. He met Alec’s gaze and recognised Alec’s sly, interested smile. “In such a rush to escape already, Q?”

“New skills need to be repeated to lodge them firmly in the mind.” Q was already focused on setting the lockpicks into the lock, paying no attention to either James or Alec. “And this one’s fun.” His mouth was set in a smile as he determinedly manipulated the picks.

Alec watched with a fond smile, one arm resting on the sofa behind Q’s back. “You’ve got better dexterity than either of us do. Then again, I doubt you’ve broken your knuckles as often as we have. Hazard of the job, I suppose.”

“Once you’re good at opening the locks like that, you should practice with your eyes closed,” James said as he sat back down on the armchair. He didn’t trust himself to go to the couch.

“You’re good at that, aren’t you?” Q said it as if he were dead sure he was right. He was, of course.

“This is just the start,” Alec said, moving his free hand to touch Q’s leg reassuringly. When Q paused in his lockpicking, Alec said, “No, keep going. You need to learn to read the lock through the picks. Then you can try it with your eyes closed or hands behind your back.”

“Isn’t that a bit much?” James asked protectively.

“If you’re thinking of that bloody executive self-defence course...” Alec huffed scornfully.

“True,” James conceded. When Q looked up curiously, James explained, “It doesn’t accomplish much except giving false confidence, I’m afraid to say. There isn’t a single executive Alec or I couldn’t have disarmed, disabled, and out of the country in a matter of hours.”

“Tanner, maybe,” Alec said. “His wife’s a terror with a handgun.”

“Fair point. But having an unexpected bodyguard like that is the exception, not the rule.”

“Well, have no fear for me. I don’t go anywhere — I rarely set foot out of the secure building, even. Except, it seems, when I have _two_ bodyguards.” Q looked up at James and smiled in a way that could almost be thought of as fond.

“Are we bodyguards?” Alec asked, looking at James. “I thought we were kidnappers.”

“At one point, I think we were pirates,” James said dryly, though he knew he was grinning.

“Well, bollocks. Pirates don’t use silver handcuffs. Just rope, don’t they? Do we even have rope?”

“Touch my climbing gear, and I’ll shoot you,” James threatened. “Any preference, Q? Bodyguards, kidnappers, or pirates?”

“You’re joking, aren’t you? The answer is _always_ pirates.” Q had gone back to working on the lock, but he was grinning broadly by now, and he sounded highly amused. Alec shifted closer to Q, who froze, wide-eyed, as Alec started frisking him — slowly and seductively.

“Alec,” James warned, raising a brow questioningly.

“Alec?” Q’s voice was more hesitant than warning, though he remained absolutely still. “What are you looking for, exactly?”

“Rope, of course,” Alec said as if that would be logical to anyone else in the room. “You had handcuffs in one pocket, Quartermaster. What’s in the other one?”

“And now he’s Gollum,” James said with a laugh.

“If that were the case, he ought to use riddles, not his hands. Besides, these aren’t _my_ pockets... Though that’s definitely my hip.” Q jerked abruptly as if tickled, dropping the lockpicks on the floor. “And armpit. _Alec._ ” The warning was accompanied by another jerk, his elbows clamping down against his sides, but he sounded more amused than stern.

“I’m _much_ better with my hands,” Alec said in a low voice as he tugged the knotted belt holding Q’s dressing gown closed.

“Alec,” James said again, wondering why in hell it was Alec and not _him_ undressing Q — and why Q wasn’t stopping everything.

Alec stopped and turned to meet James’ eyes. “What?”

“The cuffs.”

With a quick nod, Alec gave up on Q’s belt and picked up the lockpicks instead.

“Give them here.” Q was making a grabbing motion with his left hand. “I can do it.”

Alec relinquished the lockpicks and watched as Q got them sorted out properly, despite the awkwardness of having both wrists cuffed. As Q eased the picks into the lock by his left wrist, Alec leaned in and said, almost too quietly for James to hear, “We could practice how well you can concentrate when distracted.”

“Hmm. Not a bad idea.” Q didn’t look up from what he was doing as he continued, “But no more tickling. Perhaps you —”

Alec silenced Q with a finger on his lips. Q looked up just as Alec leaned in closer, capturing his gaze. “I was thinking something other than tickling, I promise,” he said, sliding his finger down until just the tip pressed against Q’s bottom lip.

Q eyes were wide and sharply focused on Alec’s face. He swallowed, then let his mouth drop open just the slightest bit. James had no idea which of them he envied more, but no force on earth would make him move — not without Q’s invitation, at least.

“Is that a yes?” Alec whispered, leaning in even closer, until only his fingertip separated their mouths. He smiled and added, “Or are you trying to find a way to say James and I are sacked?”

Q drew his head back slightly as if trying to maintain focus on Alec’s face, though he looked over at James as well, his eyebrows furrowing. “Of course not. I wouldn’t let you go for this.”

“That just means I’m not trying hard enough,” Alec said with a low, wicked laugh as he leaned in, dragging his finger away a heartbeat before he claimed Q’s lips in a kiss.

Q’s fingers scrabbled on the front of Alec’s T-shirt until they grabbed fabric and held tight. The lockpicks, forgotten, fell from the cuff onto the couch. Q hummed against Alec’s mouth and then opened his lips to kiss him more deeply.

After only a moment more, Q pulled back, however, and looked Alec squarely in the face. “Hang on. Are you _trying_ to get sacked? Is that the game here? Push the quartermaster far enough that he’ll kick you off the odd assignment?”

“Last time we were anything but professional, you seemed on the verge of exiling us back to MI6,” Alec said, backing off a bit, though he wasn’t giving up, James knew. Otherwise, he would’ve put distance between their bodies.

But James wasn’t nearly as confident that this was a temporary glitch and not a potential disaster. “So what changed your mind?” he asked warily.

Q looked over at James, confused. “Last time either of you flirted with me it was _at work._ ”

Alec snorted and leaned over to pick up the lockpicks. “We’re field agents. We’re _always_ ‘at work’. Otherwise, people would stop trying to kill us on weekends.”

“Then what type of work are you engaged in right now? Because I’m almost certain a mission brief hasn’t crossed either of your desks that asked you to seduce your quartermaster. Or is that just the extra bonus?” Q’s voice had a snarky edge to it, and this time when he held out his hand for the lockpicks, the twitch of his hand betrayed his impatience.

“Asset preservation,” Alec said as he handed over the lockpicks.

Q frowned at Alec then glanced over at James. “What’s he on about?”

“I have no bloody idea,” James admitted, stalled on the use of “preservation” instead of something more logical, like “protection.”

“The two of you,” Alec muttered, leaning one shoulder against the back of the couch, keeping watch on the lockpicks. “James.”

“What?”

Alec shot him a flat look. “James _is_ the asset, Q. At least in this case. I’ve killed for him, so why wouldn’t I seduce for him? If nothing else, it’s less damaging to the furniture.”

Beckoning to James, Q shook his head and said, “I thought I spoke Alec-ese, but I’m lost. And my patience is wearing thin. Fix this.”

 _This_ was why James should’ve intervened once the kissing stopped. With a quiet sigh, James moved from the armchair to the couch, where he sat on Q’s other side. Q handed over the lockpicks, and James automatically started to undo the locks, careful not to touch Q more than was necessary. There was no sense making this even more awkward for everyone, except perhaps Alec.

“He’s being helpful,” James said, glancing up at Alec, though the picks never faltered. He’d unlocked them a half-dozen times under far more stressful situations. “Genuinely helpful — not the sort of help that usually involves fire.”

“Backup plan if this gets all cocked up,” Alec said dryly.

“This sort of help feels the opposite of genuine. And since when do _you_ need help seducing someone?” Q had gone from snarky to cross and was glaring at them both.

James’ fingers stilled for a heartbeat. Then, with a hard push on the picks, he unlatched the first cuff. “It was a mistake,” he said calmly, ignoring the thought that it was Alec, not him, who’d got to kiss Q, even just once.

“Then fix it, and do it yourself.” With his newly freed hand, Q reached for James’ chest and took hold of his shirt, but that was it. He just held on.

On missions, the world took on a sharp-edged clarity, a heightened awareness that James had rarely experienced without someone trying to actively kill him. Now, he could feel the heat of Q’s hand through the thin T-shirt and the press of his leg where the couch cushion edges sagged together between them. A subtle shift made James look up to meet Alec’s eyes. Alec tipped his head in the direction of the front door.

“Alec stays,” James said, looking back at Q. Two months ago, James would’ve been willing to let Alec leave, but not now, after all the effort he’d made to keep up James’ spirits after Q’s rejection.

“I expected he would,” Q replied, voice soft and mild. He glanced over his shoulder at Alec, but didn’t let go of James. “Though I’ll admit to still being unsure which of you actually wants me.”

“After all you’ve seen of us, you think we don’t _both_ want you?” James asked, finally getting back to picking the other lock.

“And he doesn’t get any bloody points just because he saw you first,” Alec complained. “Some of us were _working_ while he was playing dead. Otherwise, you would’ve been all mine.”

“I’m not anyone’s, Alec.”

“Would you like to be?” Alec offered at once. “I’ll kill anyone who crosses you. They’ll never find the bodies.”

“That’s an indication of you being mine, not the other way around.” Q had lost his glare in favour of an amused smirk.

James couldn’t hold back a laugh, though it came out as a sharp exhale. “You might want to reconsider. We’re not precisely relationship material, Q. Not even if you’re an incubus.”

“Are you?” Alec asked hopefully.

Q just gave Alec his best your-quartermaster-is-not-amused look. Then he turned back to James and said, “All I’m interested in is knowing for certain that our working relationship won’t suffer.”

“It won’t change at all,” James said firmly.

“Doing anything like this with a colleague is sort of a new thing,” Alec admitted, “except for that night with James and Eve. To which I wasn’t invited.”

“You were on the other side of the continent.”

“Still, at least a bloody text or webcam would’ve been nice.”

Letting go of James to turn fully towards Alec, Q said, “If either of you is going to get jealous, I’d rather not even start.”

Even James, who’d been inching towards jealousy, had to laugh at that. “This is _both_ of us or neither, Q. Is that something you can accept?”

“Of course. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here. But you...” Q looked closely at James, his eyes going bright in realisation. “You’ve been sulking all night, haven’t you?” He turned to Alec. “Hasn’t he?”

 _“Sulking?”_ James demanded just as Alec said, “Try the last bloody _month_ or two, mate.”

“Yes, James.” Q’s voice was a gentle tease, but his smile was so sweet it cut any bite James might have felt. When he turned on Alec, he wasn’t so gentle. “But why have _you_ been so blatant, if it makes James brood? I don’t want to be the pawn in a game you two are playing with each other.”

“Because if I hadn’t, we’d still be sitting here next fucking year,” Alec said, exasperation — real and heartfelt — filling his voice. James tried to find it in himself to sigh, but the bloody thing was, Alec was right.

Q sat back against the couch cushions and stared at James for a few seconds. He pushed his glasses up and blinked, then licked his lips and softly murmured, “Why?”

Honesty didn’t come easily to any spy — especially not a Double O, for whom seduction was a weapon and words always had too many layers. “Because of that first time we met,” James said, finally getting the last lock free. It had taken three times too long, but Alec was diplomatic enough not to comment, for once.

As James tossed the cuffs and lockpicks onto the coffee table, Q frowned, thoughtful, possibly troubled. “Because we acted as adversaries?”

“Because you were a stroppy shit who proved far more useful than you should have been.”

“Who says romance is dead?” Alec asked with laugh.

“Oh, and ‘that’s a nice arse’ is somehow romantic?”

“You were thinking it, too.”

James grinned. “I wasn’t, actually, because it was covered. Q was practically drowning in a parka he stole from someone twice his size. And” — he turned to Q — “I hated your tie.”

“So because I was useful and not fashion-conscious, I wasn’t worth fucking?” Q’s frown didn’t totally leave him, but one eyebrow quirked up in challenge.

“What?” James glanced at Alec, wondering if he’d missed something, but Alec seemed equally confused.

“Weren’t we talking about why we _haven’t_ been shagging you at your desk every chance we got?” Alec asked more bluntly.

“That’s the opposite of what I’m saying. Christ, did you ever think _this_ is why you can’t get dates without me?” James asked him.

“And you couldn’t get Q to be anything but polite and professional without me!” Alec turned to Q, indignantly asking, “Who’s the helpful one here?”

“You’re both hopeless.” Q rolled his eyes hard at Alec, but a smile crept over his red lips. “James, what do you want?”

It was an unfortunately loaded question. While James was still wondering how to put his feelings into words, Alec — always helpful — said, “You. And me, of course, but that goes without saying.”

“I know you two share a brain, but I wasn’t asking you. So kindly shut it, Alec,” Q snarked at him sweetly.

“You’re right,” Alec said, ignoring orders as always. “He _is_ adorable when he’s stroppy.”

“I do want you,” James said, a little desperate to stop Alec from making matters worse. “And, yes, him, but Double O’s have never been accused of good judgment.”

Q’s face was serene, and he spoke indulgently as he reached out to touch one finger to James’ arm. “Show me.”

Alec had already kissed Q, and as much as James wanted to do the same, he didn’t want Q in the awkward position of making comparisons. So instead, James turned his hand, enjoying the feel of Q’s finger dragging over bare skin, and wrapped his fingers around Q’s arm. With a light hold, he slid down to Q’s hand and lifted. A gentle twist bared the inside of Q’s wrist, slightly reddened from straining against the cuffs.

At the last moment, he lowered his head and brushed his lips over Q’s pulse. There was a soft intake of breath, and when James looked back up, Q’s eyes were intent on his face,.

“Yes,” Q whispered.

A flash of relief burned out in the heat that seared through James. He kissed to the side, letting his mouth linger on the reddened marks over Q’s wrist bone. With his free hand, he caught Q’s other wrist, then lifted it beside the first so he could kiss across both.

Q pulled his hands towards himself, gently, to bring James closer. His voice was soft but heated. “I want you, too. I apologise if that wasn’t made clear.”

 _Yes._ James let go of Q’s wrists and got his arms around Q’s body instead. A lift and a tug, and Q twisted to end up straddling James’ lap. The belt finally came free, letting the dressing gown fall open, saving James the trouble of helping it. Instead, he reached up and got his hands into Q’s hair so he could pull Q down into a kiss.


	14. Chapter 14

_Thank all the gods. Every single one._ Q had no idea how it had taken so long, but at the moment he didn’t care. James was finally kissing him, with little to no restraint. After touching the cuffs for far too long, Q hadn’t been able to deflect the traces of James’ emotion that had seeped into the metal, and it had started to affect him. Everything felt heightened — his heart rate, the clarity of his vision, the heat of arousal low in his stomach that flared each time he’d been touched by either agent.

The combination of James’ mouth searching deeply into his and the fingers burrowed in his hair dragged a soft whimper from him, his hands clutching hard at James’ shoulders for support. He hadn’t expected such need to strike him with either of these two. He tended to keep a tight rein on his attraction to topsiders. But now, as Alec inched closer and slid his hand up Q’s back, his ironclad restraint cracked even further.

“What do you want, Q?” Alec asked, ignoring the fact that James was doing his best to kiss Q breathless. “And what the hell do we call you? Since we’re being unprofessional and all.”

“He talks too much,” James warned into the kiss, eyes opening just long enough for Q to catch a hint of bright, amused blue.

The only way Q could bring himself to pull away from James’ mouth was to run his thumb over James’ bottom lip as he said, “Q. Call me Q. I gave up every other name when I took control of MI13.”

“But that’s not a _name_ ,” Alec complained.

James sighed. “Kiss him and shut him up, Q,” he suggested.

“That’s the point, Alec. Come here.” Q leaned his head backward and turned it towards Alec. Before allowing a kiss, he said, “Names have power. I can’t allow anyone to have power over me. So, I don’t have a name.”

“How the hell can you _not_ —”

Q put James’ advice to the test. Yes, kissing Alec _was_ a good way to shut him up. An excellent way, in fact — one that tempted him to go back to kissing James just to compare the two, except Alec threw himself entirely into the kiss, holding Q’s face gently and taking absolute control. Q was barely aware of James tugging the bathrobe off his shoulders and down.

“You were about to tell us what we could do to you,” James hinted as he tugged up Q’s shirt enough to get his hands on bare skin.

“Oh... _that’s_ nice.” Q’s brain was threatening to go completely offline from the surplus of sensation, but he had enough coherence to remember setting boundaries was important. He turned his face away from Alec to think, then said, “Don’t restrain me, or I’ll resort to using magic on you, which isn’t safe when my higher faculties are fuzzy. Same for excessive pain. And Alec, no fire. Other than that... What?” Q frowned at his agents who were both giving him silly smiles.

“It’s just... _adorable._ ” Alec’s smile got even bigger. “You’re negotiating for a scene. You don’t have a dungeon at home, unless you’ve remodelled your flat without permission from management.”

“Is that what you want?” James offered. “We can accommodate — or at least improvise.”

Of course they’d done as much recon and surveillance of his flat as they could manage. Q wanted to roll his eyes at them, but he was too busy taking off his shirt to bother. “No, I just... You asked what you could do and I figured it would be quicker to tell you what you _couldn’t._ I haven’t been with a normal human — let alone two — in a long time.”

“Incubus?” Alec asked with a somewhat disturbing level of curiosity.

 _“Alec!”_ James said, exasperated.

“He said normal human! Blame him!”

“Thought about it, once, at uni. But they like to store up DNA from their hosts and try to genetically engineer half-demon babies. I don’t need to be responsible for an overly intelligent cambion running around.” Q scrunched his face up then raised his eyebrows to try and get his glasses in place as he dropped his shirt on the floor and placed his hands back on James’ shoulders.

“ _That_ would be adorable,” James said, amused as he rubbed circles against Q’s bare back. “We could recruit it for MI13. Train it as a field agent.”

“Turn it loose at annual budget meetings,” Alec added slyly.

“She mightn’t want to _kill_ people — you never know. Not all cambions are bloodthirsty. Merlin, after all, was one.” Q couldn’t help defending his purely theoretical offspring.

“You’d want a daughter?” Alec asked, sounding surprised.

“She’d definitely want to kill people,” James said. “Name one MI6 woman who’s _not_ deadly — and that includes Mavis in Accounts Payable. She was an RAF auxiliary gunner in the Second World War.”

“Well, the sperm with the X chromosome last longer, and if an incubus has to pass my DNA on to a succubus or a human woman, odds are the child would be a girl. Or at least chromosomally female — XX. And it would depend on who raised her, whether she was deadly. Or whether she acted on it. _I’m_ deadly, but I rarely kill.”

“We’d help —”

“Alec,” James interrupted. “Mission focus.”

“But a little baby demoness,” Alec said with a silly, lopsided smile.

James gave Q an exasperated laugh, softened by a smile of his own. “We can’t take him anywhere. And speaking of which, did we want to do this here, or shall we move somewhere other than the couch?”

Q stroked James’ beautifully stretched neck and brought his focus back to the other parts of his own body that were touching — or being touched by James. He was perfectly comfortable on James’ lap, but if Alec wanted to join — which it was clear he did by the way he’d inched even closer and his hand on Q’s hip — they needed to move. “It’s your bed, but I certainly wouldn’t say no to lying in it.”

James’s smile was full of approval and want. “Am I carrying you, or did you want to walk?”

“Or run,” Alec suggested. “We can chase you, if we’re back to kidnapping or piracy.”

“Let’s not. I _like_ that sculpture on the hall table.”

“That’s because you’re boring.”

While the Chaos Twins were still bickering, Q stood up and silently walked away from them, padding quickly down the hall on the assumption they’d follow. They did, still bantering, until James said, “Espresso machine.”

It was the strangest safeword Q had ever imagined. He looked back and saw only Alec had followed him into the bedroom, eyes locked to Q’s body with a heat that took his breath away.

“You’re gorgeous. We’ve wasted _months_ ,” Alec complained, stalking towards Q.

Q pressed close to Alec and smoothed a hand down the front of his T-shirt, saying, “Thank you. But let’s not waste any more time, shall we?”

Q couldn’t imagine Alec was at all modest, but the speed at which his shirt disappeared, flung across the room, caught him by surprise. Alec was all hard muscle and scars, a lifetime of military and intelligence work mapped out on his skin. A slow, predatory smile crossed his face. He rested his hands on Q’s hips, fingers tugging at the waistband of the too-large tracksuit bottoms.

“Easier to get rid of these now than once you’re on the bed.”

“True. I’ll let you do the honours.” Q reached up to wrap his arms around Alec’s neck and kissed his collarbone lightly, right over one of his scars. This close, he couldn’t miss Alec’s shiver despite the distraction of callused fingers tugging at Q’s waistband, sliding it down, pulling it away from his body to gently ease it over his half-erect cock. And then, as Q stepped back out of the cloth pooled around his ankles, Alec followed, giving a gentle push back.

“Lie down,” he murmured as Q held onto his neck, both for balance and to bring him along — not that Alec wasn’t _right there_ as Q’s legs bumped against the mattress.

Q sat and pulled Alec’s head down for a kiss, only to have Alec crowd him down onto his back. He followed, kissing the whole time, until he was braced up with his hands near Q’s shoulders, knees near Q’s hips. With all that bare skin on offer, Q couldn’t help but reach up to pet Alec everywhere, from his waist to shoulders and back down again.

“I take it you’ve done this before, Quartermaster?” Alec asked, his voice gone rough, as he pressed into Q’s hands like a demanding cat.

“Are you sure you didn’t let the cat shifter bite you? It wouldn’t be a dealbreaker if you had...” Q trailed one hand up Alec’s neck and through his hair, while the other brushed over his waistband to take hold of his belt.

“Mmm, tempted, but cannibalism,” Alec murmured, moving his lips to Q’s jaw before nudging his chin up to get at his throat.

Q stretched his neck and let Alec distract himself, then trailed his other hand down to unbuckle Alec’s belt. He tugged to get the buckle undone, only to lose his grasp completely when Alec’s teeth sank into the muscle at the top of his shoulder, biting hard enough to sting. Q let out a tiny cry and took a moment to breathe through the pain before he said, “Yes, well... That’s only if you let the animal take over for years at a time. Laurie doesn’t eat people.”

Alec released the bite slowly, then dragged his tongue over the impressions of his teeth. “What’s the most useful shifter? Are wolves too cliche?” he asked as he slid down a couple of inches to bite Q’s collarbone, though this time he was gentle.

“I wasn’t suggesting it as a goal, Alec.” Q finally got the belt undone and moved on to the button and zip. “But the family of wolves I know are very handy in a fight.”

“Introduce me,” Alec said, arching his back to make Q’s job easier. “Though James still wants a cat. Do you have a cat we can borrow when we’re not out of town?”

“Technically, I can change myself into one, but it’s a complicated spell and only lasts a day at a time. If you think he’d like that for his birthday, I’ll consider it. Twenty-four hours of getting my belly rubbed wouldn’t be too much of a hardship.” Q started to push Alec’s jeans and pants down, but they quickly bunched over his hips. “Take those off, won’t you?”

“Lazy Quartermaster,” Alec scolded, pushing to the side so he could roll over onto his back. He braced one heel on the edge of the mattress, lifted his hips up, then pushed down his jeans and pants all at once.

“He’s a guest, Alec. He’s allowed to be lazy,” James scolded from the doorway, startling Q. How long had he been standing there?

Q propped up on his elbows and waved his hand at James’ clothing. “Does that mean you’ll do all the work in taking that off while I lie here and watch?”

“He has a point, James. Stop being so bloody lazy,” Alec said, kicking his jeans at the doorway.

James neatly sidestepped, and the clothes ended up in the hallway. “Admittedly, I was enjoying watching you take Q apart until you got distracted.”

“But I got you a cat! Right, Q?”

Q couldn’t help blushing slightly. His suggestion of becoming a cat for James’ birthday was mildly absurd, and he’d meant it as more of a joke than anything. That or he wasn’t ready to admit to how much work he’d be willing to do so James — and Alec — would touch him for an entire day. “Possible. Negotiable. Go on, James. Don’t make me undress you from here.”

“Could you?” James asked, making a show of slowly — _too_ slowly — untucking his T-shirt. “Fine-control telekinesis could be useful.”

“I used to practice with my ex from uni. I could from this far away as long as you were in my line of sight.” Q twitched his hand, and the hem of James’ shirt slid up —

And James flinched back, snatching at the shirt with one hand, lifting the other in the direction of the armoire beside the door — presumably the location of the nearest weapon.

 _Right._ Don’t startle the agents. Q got up softly and, without hurrying, reached James in just a couple steps. He smoothed his hands down James’ shoulders and arms to take gentle hold of his hands. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” Raising James’ knuckles to his lips, he kissed them lightly. “Come to bed?”

James squeezed Q’s hands, shoulders relaxing, and asked, “Has Alec got you to tell him what you want, or has he been distracted this whole time?”

“Which one of us is _distracted_ and still wearing jeans?” Alec demanded.

Q turned to scold him, only to catch his breath at how damned gorgeous he was. He’d moved up the bed and was sprawled against the mountain of pillows, without a hint of modesty. Q stared for a moment at the lines and planes of Alec’s body and somewhat vaguely replied to James, “This night’s been full of distraction, hasn’t it?”

“Mmm,” James growled, pulling off his shirt. His eyes were locked to Alec’s body, though he shot Q a glance that turned into a smirk. “Go on. And take your time. No need to rush, no matter how he complains.”

“That’s not fair,” Alec said, a hint of wariness coming into his voice. “How is that fair? I’m goal-oriented.”

“In that case...” James caught Q’s hand and tugged him back, close enough to lean in and whisper, “He always does all the work. Care to change that?”

Q brushed his lips along James’ jaw to get them as close to his ear as possible. “Absolutely. As long as you join in.” He gave a brief tug to James’ waistband to remind him he was still half-dressed.

“I promise.” James kissed him, then sidestepped and went for the walk in closet, asking, “Did you unpack the condoms from the Colombia job?”

Alec frowned. “How the bloody hell should I know?”

“Did you unpack the nightvision scope?”

“Of course I did!” Alec sounded indignant.

“And this says what about your priorities?” James asked as he disappeared from sight.

“That I haven’t shagged anyone but you in too bloody long. Come here, Q. Let’s fix that.”

“Yes. Let’s.” Q climbed onto the bed and crawled up Alec’s body, caging him in with all four limbs. He leaned down until his mouth was only a centimetre away from Alec’s and stopped to whisper, “Don’t move now, dear. Let me play a bit.”

With a smug grin, Alec shifted to fold his hands under his head. “All yours. _Dear_ ,” he added playfully.

“I prefer gazelle, to be quite honest,” Q replied, in a mock-prim voice.

Alec barked out a laugh, bringing out beautiful lines by his green eyes. “Are there shifter gazelle? Though bad thought. Hooves would be hell on James’ hardwood floors.”

“How considerate of you. And odds are slim, but not zero.” Q started kissing from Alec’s crow’s feet to his jaw, and down his neck to his collarbone as he continued, “Most shifters are predators, but not all by any stretch. Any species in the animal kingdom is fair game.”

Alec hummed lazily in response. “Wolf or cat,” he said thoughtfully as he moved one hand to card his fingers through Q’s hair. “Either one could work.”

“I promise,” Q murmured against Alec’s chest on his slow path down Alec’s torso, “that if you chose wolf I’ll still rub your belly.”

“Start now,” Alec murmured, lifting his head just enough to grin down at Q.

But before Q could do more than look down and appreciate the view, a handful of condoms landed on the bed, scattered like flower petals. James followed, stopping only long enough to take a half-full bottle of lubricant from the bedside table. The drawer had a curiously metallic rattle, and Q couldn’t help but wonder if it was chains, bullets, or both. Knowing his agents, it could be either.

“Carry on, Quartermaster. Don’t let me interrupt your terrible decision-making,” James said as he rolled over onto his side, facing them.

Q sat back on Alec’s legs to look at both his agents at once. He idly ran his hands over Alec’s torso, hip bones to collarbones. “ _I’m_ not the one making terrible decisions. I leave that firmly in your hands.” His words clearly encompassed both of them.

James burst into laughter. “You just said Alec could become a bloody werewolf.”

“Suggested it, actually,” Alec said innocently. “I was still thinking cat.”

Q frowned at James. “All I said was that either way I’d rub his belly. I left the terrible decision to him. Though to be honest, he clearly doesn’t have to be a shifter at all for me to do that.” He indicated his hands gliding over the planes of Alec’s stomach.

“See? He’d still like me. So bugger off or be helpful,” Alec said, turning back to Q. “And you, back to what you were doing.”

“Mhmm.” Q cocked an eyebrow at James, then bent down and licked a broad stripe from Alec’s ribs to his collarbone, right over a flat, dusky nipple. Then he leaned over to kiss James sweetly. “Come help.”

James inched obligingly across the bed, shoving the condoms out of his way, until he was pressed up against them both. He got a hand between their bodies, fingers splayed over Alec’s chest. “Why don’t you tell us what you _do_ like, Quartermaster? Our discussion earlier got sidetracked.”

“But I did. I told you what I don’t like, so by process of elimination, everything else, I do.” Q frowned for a second, as he bent down to kiss both James’ hand and Alec’s chest. “Unless I need to mention no weapons in bed.”

Alec and James exchanged a resigned sort of look. “One moment,” Alec murmured as both agents twisted around, nudging Q out of the way. Alec pushed the pillows aside so he could draw a Glock from where it had been holstered between the mattress and headboard. Then he reached over to the other side of the bed and pulled out a second Glock.

Meanwhile, James fished around under the pillows, producing two knives. When he rolled to the edge of the bed and got a hand between the mattress and box spring, he found one more of each — a compact SIG and a throwing knife. “Get the ones on that side?” he asked as he started dropping weapons into the bedside table.

Alec grunted assent, put both Glocks on the other bedside table, then asked, “Does _under_ the bed count, Q?”

Q just sat there for a few seconds, dumbfounded. His agents were _surrounded_ by weapons at night. “Wait, stop. You both sleep well in this bed?”

“Considering what it cost?” James asked. “I should bloody well hope so.”

“And you have knives under the pillows and guns between the mattresses and under the bed?”

“Not _all_ the knives are for when we’re sleeping,” Alec said evasively.

“Can you both promise me none of the weapons will come out unless there is an outside threat or unless I expressly ask for them?” Q reached out to touch each of them, laying one hand on James’ ankle and the other on Alec’s thigh.

“You tell us what you want or don’t want,” James said seriously. “We’re not interested in anything that’ll upset you or make you uncomfortable. I can lock everything up in the gun safe if you’d rather.”

“No. I want you to feel safe in your own bed. I just need to know that none of it will be in play unless I specifically want it to be.” Q rubbed his thumb gently in a circle around James’ ankle bone.

“Definitely not,” James said.

“We wouldn’t do that, no matter what you’ve heard about us,” Alec added, sounding just a little hurt.

“I haven’t heard anything.” That wasn’t quite true. Q amended his statement. “Well, I’ve heard that James likes cutthroat razors, but that doesn’t make me uncomfortable. Besides, I’ve got a steady hand.”

James shook his head and shoved the drawer closed with a louder rattle. “Eve needed the confidence boost after shooting me. If I hadn’t trusted her, she would’ve been worthless as backup in Macau.”

Q blinked at James for a moment, then reminded himself that his agents were better at reading people than most anyone. Including, apparently, himself. “Of course. Well thought. That tactic worked wonders.” He slid his hand slowly up James’ calf and gripped the solid muscle there. “And do you trust me?”

“You’ve proven yourself,” James said seriously. “Both at MI6 and MI13.”

“Thank you, James.” He squeezed James’ leg then looked over at Alec. “And you, Alec? I hope —”

“James trusts you, so I trust you,” Alec interrupted.

“All right. Good. Thank you.” Q was momentarily stalled, unsure why his agents seemed to be hesitant with him. “Of course I trust you both implicitly.”

“That’s because we’re the best,” Alec said — again, without a hint of modesty.

Q leaned forward to kiss Alec’s knee, then his thigh. “It’s not about _best._ 008 is technically a better agent than you both. But —”

“008?” James interrupted sharply. “As in, the 008 who completely botched the _Lemurian Star_ investigation?”

“The same 008 who scored _fourth_ in the last round of small arms qualifications?” Alec demanded.

“You know there was no way for that mission to be successful. We were hamstrung before we’d begun. And I know how intimidating you two are on the range during quals. But his success rate is stellar, _and_ his paperwork is exemplary.” Q gave them both a stern look before he ran his hands up each of their legs and added, “But that’s not the point. You two, for better or worse, are my favourites. Don’t tell.”

“Bugger that,” Alec said, giving Q a sulky sort of glare. “We’ll _deal with_ 008.”

“You absolutely will _not._ If I hear about _anything,_ 006, I’ll... turn you into a newt.”

James cupped a hand under Q’s chin and leaned in to kiss him. “I promise, you won’t hear a single word of it.”

Q might have been both an accomplished witch and the director of two top secret  government departments, but he was only human after all. He allowed James to kiss him for a few moments longer than he should have before he pulled back and said, “007, I’m not joking. You know I can see everything. And I _will_ punish you.”

“Now you’re the one getting distracted,” James criticised, kissing Q one more time. Then he gave Q a gentle push towards Alec and said, “Trust me. It’s rare that he’s willing to lie there and let someone else have their way with him. Take advantage of it.”

Q looked over at Alec, once again lying smugly on his back. He tilted his head and pushed his glasses up as he looked over Alec’s body, then said, “This is not me taking orders, but... What do you like, Alec?”

“I like sex, so I’ll try damn near anything,” Alec said with a shrug. He reached for Q’s hip to pull him close, though he darted a quick, assessing glance at James before adding, “I prefer when James is with me. Solo missions, I stick to only what’s necessary to get the job done.”

Q blinked. Did he just admit to as much monogamy as a Double O could manage?

James nodded and simply added, “I feel the same.”

Q wondered, not for the first or last time, how deep the agents’ connection actually ran, but this wasn’t the time to test it. He simply nodded and crawled over to take hold of Alec’s hip, then pressed a trail of kisses along his abdomen. Alec’s sigh sounded more like a cat’s purr, and his hand went right back to Q’s hair, combing through the strands without tugging as Q kissed his way down to Alec’s thigh.

When he looked up, he saw James hadn’t moved, though a new heat had come into his eyes. There was no jealousy — just open enjoyment at what he was seeing. Q, ever the recluse, felt a brief stab of anxiety at being so on display before he thought to extend the invitation, “The view’s better from up close, you know. Coming, James?”

“With pleasure, Q,” James said, moving down Alec’s body until he could lean in close to Q and kiss his shoulder. “With pleasure.”


	15. Chapter 15

Alec had never been one to believe that rubbish about greater satisfaction coming after a prolonged wait, but he’d also never been patient — not outside missions, at any rate. In this case, though, as he watched Q shatter James’ composure, Alec wondered if people weren’t on to something after all.

More likely, Q was just bloody brilliant with his mouth and hands. He was certainly gorgeous to watch, to the point where Alec’s body was almost getting interested again, even though he’d fucked James into the mattress not ten minutes earlier. There was zero evidence that Q had any sort of a gag reflex, and by the way his arm and shoulder muscles bunched, he was timing the movement of his mouth to the fingers he had deep inside James’ arse.

He was also careful not to establish a fast enough rhythm to truly satisfy James, which made Alec’s sadistic side sit up and take notice. He should’ve expected Q to have a wicked streak like that, and he couldn’t help but wonder if, some time in the far future, James might be willing to wear those restraints with Q around. Alec and Q working together...

Q stopped so abruptly that Alec wondered if he could read minds — and if he liked Alec’s idea or not. But instead of bringing up the subject of cuffs, he nodded in the direction of the lube, discarded up near the pillows, and said, “Put that to use, Alec, would you?”

Alec blinked a couple of times. “What?” he asked, wondering precisely how Q wanted it used. Not that Alec was averse to bottoming once in a long while, but he was perfectly content lounging in bed watching his lover and his... whatever Q was. Other lover.

Instead of answering, Q swallowed James down once more — and then arched his back and spread his knees wide.

 _Oh,_ Alec thought, intrigued by this new turn.

So he generously coated his fingers and worked Q’s body open, not that it was difficult. Q knew just how to bear down without fighting, and his body relaxed in no time. All too soon, he rolled his hips and pulled off Alec’s hand, lifting his head to give Alec a sly, heated smile.

Then the clever quartermaster stripped off his glove, climbed onto James’ lap, and straddled his hips. Alec tossed aside the towel he’d used to clean his fingers, only then remembering he’d forgotten to wear a damned glove, but he pushed the thought out of his mind, certain he could trust Q’s good health.

He laid back down, close enough to run his hand over James’ chest, and watched as Q lowered himself onto James’ cock with little more than a few quiet gasps and brief pauses. His eyes were closed and his lips were moving, but Alec couldn’t catch what he said. And then he shifted his hips and James grunted, and a few words were loud enough to hear: “Yes, gods. Yes, James. You’re perfect.”

Alec could see the surprise in James’ expression and body language, though he hid it well. This whole encounter was out of the ordinary, but Alec knew for a fact that James hadn’t been inside another person for over a month, since Alec had bottomed in an attempt to cheer James up after Q’s rejection. Judging by the wide-eyed, entranced stare James fixed on Q’s face, he found it all the more appealing for being unexpected. And because of that, his already-tested self-control began to fracture.

Unable to resist, Alec slid his hand down James’ body to Q’s cock. He had no trouble at all staying hard, so Alec stroked a couple of times, making Q swear harshly under his breath. Grinning, Alec leaned in to whisper in James’ ear, “Not until he comes.”

James’ exhale was full of frustration, but he nodded, never looking away from Q. He took hold of Q’s hips and rolled his spine, thrusting up into Q’s body. Q grunted and gasped for air, opening his eyes to blink down at James and nod. His cheeks and neck and chest were flushed, and he splayed his hands on James’ chest as he raised and lowered himself slowly. The three of them found a rhythm, then lost it again as James thrust harder and Q moved faster, until Q let out a beautiful, broken cry and spilled over Alec’s hand. James held his breath, and Alec could see him fighting his own orgasm for a few more seconds, just for the pleasure of watching Q. But as Q exhaled shakily, rocking his hips, James hissed in a breath and tensed up in a way Alec knew all too well. Alec ducked his head and bit James’ shoulder, and Q leaned down to silence James with a kiss that ended in panting and gasping.

Slowly, Q reached down to hold the condom in place before he eased off James’ cock. He rolled to James’ other side and smiled lazily at them both. He reached out to take hold of Alec’s messy hand where it rested on James’ stomach, then pulled it towards himself to kiss the palm. “Thank you. Both.” He kissed James’ shoulder, then let his head fall onto a pillow as his body went slack.

James turned enough to smile at Q. “You’re gorgeous like that,” he said softly. “I suspected you would be.”

Q’s unfocused smile widened, and he stretched like a cat. “I bet you say that to all the men you ravage,” he said playfully.

Grinning, Alec sat up to find the nearest towel. “Maybe, but they’re never in our bed when he says it.” He started to clean off his hand, asking, “There’s more pizza, isn’t there?”

Momentary confusion crossed Q’s face before an indulgent smile broke over his features. He seemed to have no desire to move from his spot on the bed, but he reached for his glasses and nodded.

“Perfect. I’m starved.” Alec tossed the towel to James and twisted, kicking his legs over the edge of the bed. “Anyone else want?”

“No pizza in bed, Alec,” James said pointlessly. They both knew Alec would ignore him.

“Q? A couple slices?” Alec offered, but Q shook his head. Probably just as prissy about eating in bed as James was. Rolling his eyes, Alec picked up Q’s dressing gown — actually James’ — and threw it on, then surreptitiously swiped up Q’s mobile. Once the glow wore off, Q would start having thoughts about leaving and going back to the office. He slipped the mobile into his pocket, then headed out to find food and something to drink. Hopefully, James wouldn’t say something stupid — something professional and formal — before Alec got back to supervise.

 

~~~

 

Q closed his eyes and felt the tiredness within him, but was pleased to recognise it as stemming from physical exertion, rather than stress and lack of sleep. It filled him up, instead of hollowing him out, and he was grateful for it. He rubbed the tip of his nose against James’ shoulder and hummed. “You’re gorgeous. And you feel incredible.”

James shifted so he could slide an arm under Q’s pillow. “No regrets? I won’t take offence. It’s common enough, after being intimate with any field agent, much less two Double O’s.”

Adjusting his head to rest more comfortably on James’ shoulder under the pillow, Q furrowed his brow in confusion. “That was immensely satisfying. Why would I regret any of it?”

“The list of reasons is far too long for me to recite, but there’s a fifty-fifty chance one will show up shortly, if Alec decides to reheat the pizza instead of eating it cold,” James said dryly, though Q could hear a hint of amusement — indulgence, even — in his voice.

“It’s not _my_ bed he’ll ruin,” Q teased with a grin. “Though I _am_ becoming immensely fond of it.” He wriggled on the downy duvet, enjoying the feel of it on his skin, then pressed himself up against James’ side. “Positive associations and all...”

“Oh?” James flinched slightly at the sound of rattling plates echoing through the flat. “You’re welcome to stay the rest of the night, as long as we don’t end up having to call 999.”

Q rested his hand on James’ sternum and rubbed it comfortingly. “Thank you, I appreciate that. But not if I end up displacing either of you. It’s your bed, and you should get to sleep in it.”

“You don’t actually have the option to leave. I’m fairly certain Alec’s stolen your shoes and trousers,” James teased, reaching down with his other hand so he could tug at the blankets. Q chuckled, staying close as James pulled the blankets up to waist-level on them both, before pausing. “Would you rather have a hot bath? Or a shower?”

“Would you join me in either?” Q wasn’t so sleepy that he didn’t marvel at the stillness in James — something he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before — and he wanted to maintain it for as long as possible. If hot water would help, he’d take it. Also, they were both somewhat filthy.

James lifted his head and shot Q an openly suspicious look. “The bathtub’s big enough for one and a half at most, and I don’t care what Alec’s offered you, we’re _not_ breaking into the penthouse flat to get at their hot tub, even if they’re still out of town,” he warned.

Of course Alec would attempt something so ridiculous and heedless of boundaries. Q affected a chastened air and batted his eyelashes, which earned him a grin. “Duly noted.” He kissed James’ eyebrow and added, “Shower, then?”

“Mmm. Are we in a rush, or should we take our time and let Alec join us?” James asked as he kicked the blankets back down. “You only really know him from MI6, but... he can be surprisingly gentle when he’s relaxed.”

“No rush on my end. And I’d say the goal for the rest of the evening should be for all of us to stay as relaxed as possible.” Q sat up and turned to straddle James’ hips again, leaning down to kiss him soundly on the mouth.

James hummed into the kiss, sliding his hands up Q’s thighs to rest at his waist. When the kiss ended, James quietly said, “As long as no one tries to kill us, I think we’ll be just fine. _And_ as long as you stay the night.” His fingers twitched. “Or the weekend, if you’d like.”

Q felt his face flush at the offer. The thought of having an entire weekend to get his fill of the two agents made him slightly giddy — and then a bit nervous. He couldn’t decide if it was a horrible idea to spend that much time with them, in their space, surrounded by all their everyday objects. Each one of those objects had the potential to give him more information — more emotional insight — than it was most likely healthy for a co-worker to have. Or for a Double O to let slip.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to say no. Not outright. “Yes, all right. At least the night. I might have to go into work at some point later on.”

“Actually, that won’t happen, you going into work,” James said with an apologetic smile. “You need a holiday. And we’re not nearly done with you yet.”

“Emergencies happen, James. Why do you think I haven’t _had_ a holiday in eight months?” Q stood up slowly and stepped over to where he’d left his phone on top of his clothes. “Not that I _want_ you to be done yet... Where’s my phone?”

James shrugged as he sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. “No idea. Fell under the bed maybe?”

Warily, Q walked back to the bed to bend down and look. He had no idea what sort of weapons they’d hidden under there. “Doubtful. It was with my clothes...”

James pulled him back up and into a kiss. “Let’s not discuss your clothes just yet,” he suggested, wrapping his arms around Q’s body. “Nice, hot shower first.”

“Yes, but I’ll need my phone, James. Did you... Alec.” Q looked towards the door, exasperated. It was flattering to be wanted that much, but that didn’t make it any less inconvenient. He turned back to James and kissed him briefly, trying to keep the thread of irritation in him from catching hold. “Yes. Shower.”

With a winning smile, James pulled Q towards the ensuite. “Think of what you want for breakfast. If we let Alec sleep in, he won’t try to help cook, so it won’t be burned.”

“I could always distract him for you...” Q grinned, then remembered that his agents didn’t work alone. That was going to take some getting used to. “Where you can watch. Or would that risk burning things as well?”

James lifted his hand to touch Q’s face. “Cook breakfast or watch you and him? I’d have to let it burn.”

The touch was tender enough that it reached into Q in a way he wasn’t expecting. His thoughts about getting his agents individually only if the other watched were scattered by a thought he was wholly unprepared for: that this encounter might mean more than just diverting sex. At least for James. Damn Tanner.

Q had no idea how to feel about that, apart from lightheaded. When he could breathe again he told himself he’d leave after breakfast, before everything became a lot more complicated than it needed to be.

 

~~~

 

James couldn’t stop touching. After months of wanting from a distance, then being forced to work close to Q every day, James still could hardly believe this was real and not some hallucination or, well, effect of working at MI13. He ran his hands through Q’s hair, pushing the wet curls back from his eyes, then stroked down his shoulders and arms, watching the way the water poured over his too pale skin. The contour of his slender, strong muscles was captivating. The way he moved, the way his body was put together — it was all so very different from most of the men James seduced on missions. So very different from Alec.

For once, it was Q who had better mission-focus than James. While James was staring and petting, Q found the body wash and poured some into his hand, until James got his own hand over Q’s. “Let me,” he said, sliding the bottle out of Q’s fingers.

Through a fuzzy, indulgent grin, Q said, “Not going to argue. Your hands verge on miraculous — Alec’s, too. The pair of you...” He closed his eyes, and James wondered if that was easier than whatever blurry view he had without his glasses on.

“We’ve always worked well together,” James said modestly as he set the soap bottle aside. He rubbed his hands to work up a lather, then splayed his fingers across Q’s chest.

Q’s body relaxed under James’ touch. “Mmm. We’re going to have to test that connection more... See what you can do with it.”

Thankfully, the fog covered any hint of blush that might have touched James’ face. He’d worked hard to learn how to control his blush reaction, but something about Q sent all that work right out the bloody window. “We’ve done a bit of experimenting,” he said calmly. Q didn’t need to know that their ‘experimenting’ primarily involved sex.

“You were bloody well synchronised earlier. I can usually last longer than that.” Q smiled at him sheepishly. “Granted, it’s been a while...”

“Eight months? Or have you taken a weekend or two for yourself?” James asked, unable to keep a hint of scolding from his voice. In his time at MI6, more than one executive had burned out from working too hard.

“Weekends to myself rarely involve sexual encounters. I’d rather not calculate when it was I last had one of those.” Q grimaced self-consciously and wiped the water from off his face with both hands.

With a gentle press on one shoulder, James turned Q around, giving them both a measure of privacy once they weren’t face-to-face anymore. As he picked up the bottle of soap again, he said, “Then let us have you for this weekend. You’ve earned the rest, Q. There will _always_ be one more emergency, one more crisis, one more demand on your time.”

“True, but that’s the bloody problem, isn’t it? Always something to do.” Q sighed and leaned back into James’ touch. “I wish there were two of me. But even I’m not _that_ advanced at spellcasting.”

Appealing as it was to have Q’s bare skin under his hands, James had to draw the line at magical cloning. He leaned in and kissed the back of Q’s neck, saying, “That wouldn’t help. There could be ten of you, and there would _still_ be more work to be done. It’s the nature of what we do.”

“Yes, but there’s already two of you— oh.” Q moaned at the press of James’ fingers on his neck. “That. Please.”

“And if you stay the weekend, you’ll _have_ both of us,” James promised softly as he obliged, rubbing his fingers over Q’s neck and shoulders to find the worst knots. “You’re a wreck. I’ll do this more in bed, where you can lie down properly.”

“Mmm, all right. But don’t make me promise I’ll stay. I don’t like breaking my word.” Q’s voice had gone soft and breathy with James’ ministrations, but that didn’t change the core of strength behind them.

James laughed, charmed at how precise Q was being. It was reassuring, in a way, knowing that Q didn’t want to put himself in a position where he’d have to break a promise to his agents. “We could just tie you to the bed.”

“Like pirates, I suppose.” The humour in Q’s voice wafted over his shoulder warmly. “Or cuff me to the showerhead...”

Pointedly, James dug his fingers in even harder, making Q groan. “With your shoulders in this condition? I’d rather not have you come out of this weekend in _more_ pain.”

Q bent his head forward until his chin was almost on his chest. “Is it painful, then? To be bound like that?”

The question caught James by surprise, filling his mind with two conflicting images of when he’d been bound: a few very pleasant, very private times with Alec, and significantly less pleasant ones on missions, far too often. “It can be, yes,” he said warily.

“When Alec does it? I thought —”

 _“What?”_ James stepped back, forgetting all his subtlety, all his training in deception and covering his inner thoughts and feelings. What the _hell_ had Alec told Q? More to the point,  _why?_

Q turned, frowning, and cautiously reached out a hand, though James kept his distance as much as the shower would allow. “The cuffs were in your _bed,_ James. I could feel you in them.”

“What?” James asked again. Q could _feel_ him in them? Was Q fantasising about something that was very fucking unlikely to happen with anyone who wasn’t Alec?

“Psychometry. I can sense certain things from handling objects.” Q kept his hand outstretched, turning it palm up in invitation. “Touching the cuffs gave me information — sensations — from when you’ve worn them. You like it.”

James shook his head, even though it was ridiculous. He’d read enough about psychometry to understand the basics, even though he’d had no idea Q possessed that particular talent. And apparently he was adept enough with it to pull specifics rather than general impressions. But even in the face of such certainty, James couldn’t _confirm_. Other than Alec, no one else knew — no one else even _suspected_ — that James would willingly be helpless under any circumstances. Certainly not for sex.

“All right.” Q tilted his chin up and pressed his lips together, blinking through the shower mist. “I know what I felt, and it was bloody arousing. But if you’d rather I was mistaken...”

James let out a breath, telling himself to calm down — that Q wasn’t going to use this information against him. But still...

“ _Nobody_ knows,” he warned, going cold inside even at that implicit admission that Q was right. “And nobody needs to know.”

“Too right.” Q took one step towards James, squinting up at him. “You know I’m not in the habit of divulging information outside of my department, especially when it’s irrelevant to anyone else. You’re my agent, James. I want you safe.”

After another deep breath, James said, more calmly, “Psych would disagree about its irrelevance.”

“Yes, well, it wouldn’t be the first time that Psych and I had a difference of opinion.” Q smiled softly. “I’m sorry I pried. It was unintentional. But there’s nothing inherently wrong with liking that.”

James nodded absently, glancing at the bathroom door. Where the hell was Alec? Reheating pizza — with or without a kitchen fire — didn’t take that long. “What exactly did you... feel?”

Q hummed and reached out again to touch James’ hand. He must have understood why James twitched back out of reach because instead of answering the question, he said, “I can only read objects, not people. This is safe.”

For a moment, James wondered if that was true or a reassuring lie. But did it matter? Whatever Q knew or thought he knew, James wasn’t about to confirm or deny the details. And if Q really wanted to venture into the minefield that was a Double O’s mind, that was his problem. He took Q’s hand, forcing himself to physically relax.

Q held it gently in both of his. “I feel the lingering emotions on an object used by someone else as sensations on my skin. So with the cuffs I felt the sting of panic, a calming caress, an extension of gratitude, and a dizzying surge of arousal. Plus closeness, safety, and a great deal of affection.” He looked up at James with a wan smile. “I’ll try not to touch any more of your things.”

“That’s absurd.” James pulled Q close and got one arm around his body, relaxing under the feel of his hot, wet skin. “Secrets are vulnerabilities in our line of work. It’s pointless to have any — except the one you already know.”

Q smiled and kissed James’ cheek, wrapping both arms around his neck. “That doesn’t mean I have to know everything. I’ve tried not to touch very much here in the shower, though your bed is unfortunately hard to guard against. I can block it out when I concentrate, but you and Alec make me lose all higher faculties when you touch me. Especially at the same time.”

“Really,” James murmured, rubbing his hands up and down Q’s back. “We’ll have to test that, once Alec gets done with whatever the hell he’s doing out there.”

Q turned his head towards the door. “What _could_ he be...? Shit. The spellbook.” He gave James a long-suffering look, then dropped his head to rest on James’ shoulder. “That man will be the death of me.”

“What?” James had to concentrate to remember the spellbook that had started all of this. With a dismissive shrug, he said, “He needs a hobby other than wrecking my kitchen.”

“I fear this hobby _will_ wreck the kitchen. And a lot more besides. I wish he’d ever in his life heed my warnings.” Q dragged his fingers through the hair at the back of James’ head and then down his neck. “Can’t you call him in here?”

“Assuming he listens,” James muttered, thinking he didn’t need a pet cat — not while he had Alec.

Reluctantly, he pulled away from Q and stepped one foot out of the shower, only to have Q pull him back in and gently tap his temple with one finger. “Not with your voice. With your mind.”

“We haven’t managed words like that yet,” James said as he got his arms around Q once more. “Only sporadic images, and only when we’re not _trying_.”

“Then shall we give him images to pick up on?” Q’s voice turned suggestive, and he nosed at James’ chin in order to get at his neck.

James grinned and closed his eyes, turning his head to bare his throat to Q. “Brilliant plan.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

Morning sunlight warmed the greatroom, making Q squint despite having put on his glasses. The scent of fresh Earl Grey — bagged and not loose leaves, but a nice gesture all the same — warmed Q to his toes. His agents were clearly morning people, and if mornings were like this, he could get very used to them.

“How do you feel about vampires?”

The question sounded casual, and Alec asked it just as Q settled down next to him with his cup of tea. James didn’t turn from the bowl of eggs he was whisking, making Q wonder if he’d even heard it.

Q looked over at Alec, who was sipping his coffee gingerly, and tried to assess where the question was coming from. Knowing Alec... “That they’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

“But useful,” Alec said sincerely. “Strong, fast, low-maintenance...”

“Are you joking? They only drink blood. That’s about as high maintenance as you can get.” Q turned to James and addressed his back. “Darling, your pet wants a vampire. Tell him no.”

“If you say no to a vampire, he’ll just want a dragon,” James said, absolutely unruffled.

“I don’t _want_ a vampire,” Alec said, rolling his eyes at James’ back. “I’m exploring career options.”

The whisk paused for a heartbeat.

“James, don’t you dare consider it. I’m not about to deal with _two_ vampires, and there’s no way you wouldn’t bite each other.” Q tried to keep the desperation out of his voice as he tried to reason with the unreasonable. “Alec, what’s the matter with becoming a sorcerer? You’re already showing promise.”

“Why limit myself? A sorcerer _vampire_ would be that much stronger. Plus, it makes grocery shopping much easier,” Alec pointed out with absolute confidence in what passed for logic in his world.

“What happened to shifter?” James asked.

Alec shrugged. “Nothing. I’m just keeping an open mind.”

For a moment, Q cursed the day Tanner decided to give him the Chaos Twins for MI13. He couldn’t help thinking it was a terrible mistake. But then he took a deep breath and sighed, reminding himself of how _good_ they were, both at their jobs and _to him._ It was worth the exasperation to have this — breakfast and bickering and a whole weekend together in bed.

After all, the exasperation only came from Alec’s surplus of curiosity and genuine interest. And of course, his particular form of odd logic that meant finding the best supernatural form for himself. Only a couple days ago he’d been ready to be bitten by a rabid cat shifter, simply because James wanted a pet. If that wasn’t ridiculously generous — if maddening in its utter disregard for self-preservation — Q didn’t know what was.

“There’s a lot out there to explore, yet, dear. Don’t limit yourself.” Q leaned over and gently bumped shoulders with Alec, giving him a smile.

“Daylight vampires?” Alec asked hopefully. “Because some of us actually go out in sunlight on occasion.”

“There’s a thought,” James said over the sizzle of eggs as he tipped the bowl, pouring the contents into the frying pan. “Are you a vampire, Q?”

“If I was, wouldn’t that bruise on your neck be a bit more troubling?” Q teased, one eyebrow high as he remembered the sound James had made when Q had bit him in the shower.

“No, because you didn’t catch fire walking past the window. Daylight vampire,” Alec said with a grin.

“Mirrors are the real test. And you both saw me in the mirror in the bathroom.” Q took a sip of his tea to keep from grinning at this conversation. There were reasons he didn’t go outside much, but they had nothing to do with vampirism.

“The mirror thing’s true?” Alec asked with disturbing enthusiasm. “That could be useful.”

“Or blatant,” James pointed out, swirling the contents of the pan around with a spatula. “It would take about a second and a half for any decent agent to notice someone didn’t have a reflection.”

“A second and a half? A good vampire could probably eat... two, maybe three people by then. Right, Q?”

“They do move quickly, but I’ve never known a vampire to be that voracious. They’re mostly quite lazy. And there are very many places that don’t have mirrors, James. It makes entering places with security cameras a lark, though.”

“Vampires,” Alec said, slapping a hand down on the countertop. “Let’s do that.”

“Because you want to play with security cameras?” James asked. He slid the frying pan off the burner and turned to grin fondly at Alec. “I still want a cat.”

“We have Q. He’s practically a cat.”

Q considered taking offence to that, but given how he’d purred at them earlier when they both decided to touch him upon waking, he had no leg to stand on. “I’m not your pet; I’m your quartermaster. And I don’t want to have to feed vampires. It’s such a bloody chore.”

Alec barked out a laugh, and James quickly turned his back to get plates out of the cupboard. Over the sound of rattling dishes, he said, “Q...”

“What? Oh.” Q finally heard the pun and reluctantly smiled. “But it _is._ I don’t have enough blood in me for the two of you, and acquiring it, even if you don’t show up on security feeds, is a nightmare.”

“All right. One vampire, one cat shifter, one wolf shifter,” Alec proposed. “Q, you’ll have to be the cat.”

James shot him a curious look. “Why are we dragging Q into your insanity? He’s not going to be forced into retirement in a couple of years.”

 _A couple?_ A shot of anxiety went through Q at the idea of only having his agents for such a short time. He had a long life ahead of himself, and he hated to think of something that worked so well being so short-lived. He took a breath and tried to follow the thread of conversation. “Don’t you think, Alec, that if I’d wanted to become a shifter — or anything else — I’d have already done it?”

“Not without us to help you make the decision,” Alec said without even a moment’s hesitation.

James sighed as he started portioning the scrambled eggs onto plates. “While we _are_ trained to make fast decisions based on limited information, it usually doesn’t involve turning an executive into a house pet.”

“Usually. Not never.”

Q was so very tempted to shut them up that he couldn’t help but cast an illusory spell. In one moment, he went from sitting on a stool at the kitchen island to looking the spitting image of a dragon. Granted, he was only a five-foot-tall dragon, as he remembered just at the last moment he wasn’t supposed to startle the agents.

Or at least, not overly. One plate of scrambled eggs hit the floor and shattered, and Alec splashed coffee everywhere as he snatched up the mug in a reflexive grab for the nearest weapon.

“What the fucking hell?” James asked, abandoning the other plates to circle around the island.

“We’re keeping him,” Alec said. He put down the coffee cup, shook off his hand, then reached out to touch Q. His hand went right through the illusory dragon’s head, and the smile disappeared from his face.

“You can’t expect me to actually _be_ a dragon, Alec. I didn’t have time for that.” Q stepped back and unfurled his wings, letting them span from one wall to the opposite window. They wouldn’t knock into anything, being made of suggestion and glimmers of memory.

“But you could be?” Alec asked hopefully.

“For once, Q, I think Alec has the right thought,” James said, holding up a hand as if to touch one false wing. “That’s spectacular.”

Q knew it would be easy to charm Alec, but he was unreasonably pleased to have enchanted James as well. “It’s years of work to become a dragon. I could be a cat for you next month.”

Carefully, James slid his hand through the illusion until he touched Q’s back. Q released the spell — fighting to maintain an illusion under touch would’ve drained his energy — and leaned against James’ hand. James kissed the top of Q’s head and quietly said, “I rather like you the way you are.”

The warmth Q felt at James’ words was as if he really was a dragon, with fire in his belly. “Thank you, James. But if you’d touch me more if I was a cat, I’d think quite hard about it.”

“There we go,” Alec said, pointing at Q. “Cat. Which one do you want, James? Vampire or wolf?”

James laughed and kissed the top of Q’s head again, then wrapped an arm around his body. “Which would you prefer, Quartermaster?”

Q curled into the touch and said, “I’ve already tried to date a vampire once. It was a disaster. I’d rather not repeat it.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Alec asked quietly, looking over Q’s head at James. “Dating?”

James’ arm tightened around Q’s body. “Dating a field agent is even more of a disaster.”

Keeping his flushed face hidden against James’ neck, Q murmured, “You’re much easier to wrangle. But we don’t have to.”

James sighed, running one hand up Q’s back and into his hair. “We’re not _good_ people, Q. We kill people — sometimes for no other reason than they got in our way.”

“Lie, cheat, steal,” Alec added right before Q felt another hand — Alec’s hand — on his back, and sensed movement on his other side. “Forget birthdays.”

“We do bring home gifts,” James said.

“Usually not the kit we were issued. Quartermasters are all sorts of stroppy about that.”

“True.”

Q’s smile was more of a wince. “But you _are_ good. You just do bad things — under orders, in the name of good. I can feel the regret. When you return your guns to me, I can feel it.”

“Doesn’t stop us from doing it all over again next time,” Alec said with a little shrug as he rested his hands on Q’s hips. “We’re not _nice_ people, Q. And we’d be a hell of a lot less nice if we had claws and fangs — but maybe we’d be more useful.”

“You’re useful enough as you are. And you’re nice to _me_. And that’s basically all I care about. But if you don’t want...” Q couldn’t finish the sentence and felt a fool that he’d lost his voice, so he tried to pull away from them, but they held him in place between them.

“Alec,” James said thoughtfully. “The bedroom safe. What you picked up in Mauer...”

Alec’s hands twitched. Then, with a thoughtful hum, he let go and stepped back, saying, “I’ll check.”

James leaned down and kissed the top of Q’s head again. “Wolf shifters probably have it easier than humans.”

Q frowned, marginally annoyed that he wasn’t following. “How’s that, do you suppose?”

“Most humans won’t accept a bloody carcass as a gift. Well, not outside a Michelin-starred steakhouse,” James corrected with a soft laugh. “We field agents are very good at playing civilised — some of us better than others — but at heart, we’re anything but.”

Still somewhat lost, Q couldn’t help but grin and reply, “That’s why I like you so much.”

“My impeccable fashion sense? Or my ability to kill someone with whatever’s at hand, including a piece of paper?”

“How _did_ you manage a piece of paper?”

James’ laugh was low and just a little wicked. “Trade secret. But you’re safe. You wear glasses, most of the time.” He stepped back, arms still locked in place, and pulled Q off the stool. “I’ll get back to cooking breakfast later. For now...” He leaned down to brush his lips across Q’s and took a step backwards, towards the living room.

Q yielded willingly, but had to speak up and ask, “Are you sure Alec won’t try to take over?”

“Only if you hurt his feelings.” James didn’t stop until he was at the couch, where he sat down, pulling Q along with him. Q ended up sprawled half on top of James, who stretched out across the length of the couch.

“Why would I hurt...” Q suddenly wondered if Alec was bringing him the equivalent of a bloody carcass, and he steeled himself to deal with whatever would come. “I thought you were the more reasonable of the two. What sort of idea have you put in his head?”

James grinned up at Q, then buried his hands in Q’s hair and leaned up to silence him with a kiss.

“Starting without me, are you?” Alec asked as he walked over to the couch.

James let go of Q’s hair, though only with one hand, and he broke the kiss just enough to say, “Either help or bugger off.” Then he reclaimed Q’s mouth, kissing as if his life depended on it, as if nothing else in the world existed but the two of them.

 _Three_ of them, Q corrected a moment later as he felt Alec’s hand curl around his nape. And when James finally broke the kiss, Alec leaned in, barely giving Q a chance to gasp a breath before demanding a kiss of his own.

It was dizzying to feel their combined desire like this, one right after the other, insistent to the point of overwhelming. Q held tightly to James’ shoulder as Alec took his breath, pulling a soft moan out of him at the passion on display. There was nothing Q wanted more than this — not now that he was certain he could have it.

When the kiss ended, he blinked open his eyes and found Alec staring at him. For once, the agent’s expression was unguarded, his green eyes soft.

So when Alec said, “Bugger, that stings,” and frowned, Q felt even more lost than before.

“Sorry. Forgot how sharp it is,” James said, wincing.

Q stared between them, worried they’d done something stupid. He sat back, and only then did he see that they were holding hands — with drops of blood welling up between their palms. Truly concerned now, Q reached out for their arms, trying to fight down the panic welling up in his throat. “What have you done? Are you all right?”

“We’re fine,” Alec said, pulling his bleeding hand away from James’.

Q opened his mouth to scold his idiot agents, then stopped when he saw something shiny and black, almost polished to a mirror finish, lying on James’ palm. It was chipped and jagged in spots, roughly sculpted into a triangle. An obsidian arrowhead?

“Here,” James said, propping up on his elbow and holding out his hand to Q. “You said you collect blades.”

“Not so you can cut yourselves on them. What were you thinking?” Q took the object from James, curious as to its origin, and immediately felt the weight of ages locked in the obsidian. Echoes of emotions and events were all but lost to the centuries it had spent buried in the earth. It awoke only with blood — Alec’s blood, Q realised at once — when he’d used it to cut into his own flesh. The memory of pain made Q gasp, and he had to fight back the threatening dizziness and put his mental shields between himself and the arrowhead’s emotional imprint.

Protected, he was able to tease through the impressions without feeling them. Alec had cut out a bullet, then used the arrowhead to slice someone’s throat, giving Q a flash of military training and a childhood spent in the German Democratic Republic before the Berlin Wall came down.

And then, as Q moved forward to the _now_ , he felt a rush of affection, trust, and absolute loyalty from both of his agents, whose blood stained the blade. It was a child’s ritual, play-acting at blood magic, but also the only way they could ever express what they were feeling. James and Alec had never been given the words to say what was locked in their hearts, but they’d found their own way to tell Q all the same.

He felt foolish, sitting there with tears in his eyes as his agents bled, but at the moment he couldn’t find suitable words. He kissed them both, briefly, then looked closely at Alec and said, “There’s a scar on you from this. Isn’t there?”

Alec blinked, glancing at James, then back at Q. “You’ve seen me naked, Q. There are scars all over me.”

“Which one is from this?” Q held up the arrowhead, precious in his hand.

Frowning as if confused, Alec nodded. He knelt up next to the couch and unbuttoned his jeans so he could pull the waistband down an inch, revealing a jagged, twisting white scar low on his abdomen. “It was a .22. Oblique entry. Damn near chipped my hipbone.”

Q brushed a finger over the scar. It was obviously fully healed, but with the pain of the wound fresh in his mind, he needed the reassurance. Something about the pain and the blood being bound up in his gift — even before the agents cut themselves on it — pulled deeply at him, and the threat of tears became a reality. He sniffed quickly and took off his glasses to rake the back of his hand across his face, saying, “Go wash up. I don’t want those cuts infected.” He touched the fingers of their injured hands and cast a silent spell for quick healing.

Before Q could pull his hand away, Alec caught it and laced their fingers together. “If one of us was a vampire, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

“It would be for the maid that we don’t have because you scared the last one away,” James said with a sharp laugh. “You’re bleeding on the carpet.”

“If you were a vampire, you wouldn’t bleed, so the carpet would be safe. But James wouldn’t. Bloodlust is a _thing_.” Q put his glasses back on and got up off the sofa — off of James — adding, “Go on. Quickly, before I get sick.” It wasn’t the sight of blood that was affecting him, but the arrowhead in his hand. He needed to set it down.

With a catlike twist, James got to his feet and reached for Q’s arm with his unbloodied hand. “Sit down. We’re both fine. Do you need some water?”

Q shook his head. “I know you are. I’m fine too. Just please get cleaned up. I’ll be right here.” He moved to the kitchen island and sat on his stool, listening as James and Alec went to the bedroom. He turned to the counter and set the arrowhead on it, taking a deep breath as he let down his mental shields.

Warily, he brushed a fingertip over the bloodied arrowhead, sampling the impressions in brief flashes. James’ deep love for Alec. His affection for Q. Alec’s fiercely protective nature. Pain and love and bloodshed and loyalty. With each touch, he knew more but at arm’s length, without the disorientation and nausea that had threatened to overwhelm him before.

By the time Alec and James returned, Q could hold the arrowhead without losing his composure. He looked up at them and smiled, saying, “Thank you for this. It’s lovely, and it means a lot to me. I’m sorry if I acted oddly earlier.” He shook his head dismissively at himself.

“So, care to explain the details?” Alec asked, swiping up his mug on the way to the coffeemaker. “James tried, but he wasn’t making any sense.”

“Because only one of us has read the basics on psychic talents,” James told Q.

“I was busy learning to actually _do_ things.”

“And this is one of the many reasons why you’re a good pair,” Q cut in, smiling at them both. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, then continued, “Psychometry is being able to read information from the objects you touch. Much of the information I can gather from personal items is to do with emotions, which means, when I touched the arrowhead, I could feel your pain.”

Alec frowned, turning to face James, who was out of Q’s sight, picking up the shards of ceramic from the broken plate. “Well, that was a bloody stupid idea.”

“It showed him how we feel,” James protested.

“Is that what we were doing?” Alec turned to Q, asking, “Is that what we did?”

“Well, yes. That, too.” Q wasn’t sure how to divulge information that they already knew about themselves. “There was the overwhelming agony of cutting out the bullet, and that’s what made me go funny, but yes. There was also a surfeit of affection and loyalty from each of you. And I greatly appreciate that.”

“Normal people just give flowers, you know,” Alec complained as he turned back to fill his coffee mug. “Why didn’t we do that? Or kill someone? We could’ve killed someone for him. We’re bloody fantastic at that.”

“Are you going to help me clean this up or are you just going to stand there drinking coffee and bitching?” James asked.

“I’m wounded.” Alec held out his cut hand to Q, showing a plaster that was already coming unstuck from his palm.

“Don’t kill someone for me. I could feel that German soldier, too. That was enough.” Q shook his head to dispel the feeling and stood up. “If you’re not going to help James, come sit with me.”

“Sorry, James,” Alec said, happy as a puppy to follow Q to the sofa. “You’re outranked.”

James’ answer was in a language Q couldn’t immediately identify, though the words didn’t sound at all polite. He turned and blew James a kiss, then told him, “That’s enough. You got the whole shower last night, whereas Alec only got half, and you were sprawled across me the entire time we slept. It’s Alec’s turn.”

Under a minute later, Alec had his coffee on an endtable and Q cuddled close. He ran a hand down Q’s arm, then back up, sliding his fingers under the sleeve of the oversized T-shirt Q had put on instead of his office clothes. “You’d make a very good cat, you know. Even James doesn't like being petted quite this much.”

Q shivered at the light touch and pressed closer to Alec, placing a hand on his chest. “I’ve done it before, once, though not when I had two people to pamper me the entire time. My partner and I became cats together, actually. It was good fun.”

Alec made a discontented noise, almost a growl, and his arm tightened, holding Q closer. “The only problem I see is that James and I need to go out on daylight missions — at least, I assume we do. So unless there are daylight vampires, I’m stuck being the cat, and _you_ get the bloodsucking fangs.”

“What is with this vampire obsession? I’m _not_ turning into one of them, thank you very much.” Q looked sharply at Alec and added, “And I thought you _wanted_ to be the cat. James is extremely good at petting, I’m sure you are aware.”

Alec shrugged and picked up his coffee. “That was before we had you. I just wanted it for James. I’d be a much better wolf — or a vampire, I suppose.”

“He does seem to need something to touch. In the shower before you deigned to join us... Oh.” It was time to have a serious conversation with Alec.

Alec looked over at James for a moment. “‘Oh’? What? What’s wrong?” he asked sharply, though he lowered his voice.

Q cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up his nose, but he kept his voice low as well. “The reason James knows about my ability with psychometry is because I told him what I felt from the restraints.”

“What did you feel?” Alec asked slowly.

Q looked steadily at him. “Putting it all together, it amounted to a willingness to submit to you.”

Alec took a deep breath, meeting Q’s eyes for a few seconds before he turned and looked over at James again. “It’s for him. Not because he’s weak or anything. It’s the opposite. He _won’t_ stop and put it all aside — the job and everything — unless I make him.”

Was Alec saying that the only way he could get James to let go and relax was to physically restrain him? That made some sort of strange sense, though it had seemed to Q that he’d been quite relaxed the whole weekend so far. Granted, he was always doing something, or was ready to act if he were to be needed. He’d puttered in the kitchen and been the one to make them drinks, he’d been active in bed and even after, he’d suggested a shower — where he did _all_ the washing up — instead of just lying in bed. He’d also been the first to react to anything unusual or startling. Clearly, he never did really let go.

“I’m glad you can give that to him. I’m sure he needs it.”

“It’s...” Alec  looked down, tightening his arm around Q’s body again. “It’s not something he might ever be able to do with you. Don’t think...” He shook his head. “It doesn’t mean he doesn’t trust you.”

“No, I know. But there’s no competition when it comes to you. More than twenty years together, having gone through hell and back many times, and of course the way you're linked... which we still haven’t explored enough.” Q didn’t allow himself to get sidetracked with ideas as to how. “I don’t need that from him. And if you can give it, that’s wonderful. I’ll admit to wishing I could watch...” He shook his head, not about to allow himself the scrying bowl for something like this. They trusted him and he needed to be worthy of that trust.

“Maybe,” Alec said thoughtfully. “As for our link, it doesn’t work for sex.”

Q blinked at him. “For sex? What does that mean, exactly?”

“You know. To tell each other what we wanted to try next,” Alec said as if that should be obvious.

A sly grin took over Q’s mouth as he imagined his agents attempting to use telepathy in bed. It was an adorable image full of extended pauses, false starts, and exasperated noises. “Right. Well, we could always try each of you guessing what the other two of us are doing...”

Alec’s eyes lit up with wicked humour. “Now _that’s_ a clever idea.” He lifted his arm from Q’s shoulders and stood, calling, “Oi, James! Q’s had an idea for what to do today.”

“The answer’s no unless it starts with _you_ doing the washing up,” James answered.

Q stood and walked over to James, who’d cleaned up the mess and set up another pan of scrambled eggs. He pressed up against James’ back and slid both hands around his waist. “That too. I’ll even supervise. But how about a guessing game, after?”

James’ left hand covered both of Q’s. “Is it ‘guess what creature I get to spend the rest of my life as’?”

“There’s no guessing that,” Alec said as he sat back down at the kitchen island, coffee in hand. “Wolf-shifter or vampire, whichever one I’m not. Or we could both be the same thing, but that’s not a good overlap of skills.”

Q rolled his eyes at Alec and said, “I’ll not have vampires in my department. Or my bed. Choose something else.” He turned back to kiss James’ neck and peer over his shoulder at the frying pan. He murmured softly, “I want you to wait outside the bedroom and guess what Alec and I are doing in bed. And then vice versa.”

James hummed thoughtfully. “Could be fun. And useful.”

Q laughed and hugged him tighter, kissing his shoulder. “Useful? How, pray tell?”

“Mission status updates,” Alec said.

James nodded. “Coordination without having to speak. Beyond what we already seem to do naturally.”

“Yes, all right. That makes sense. Because if you can’t simply tell each other what you want in bed, then maybe it’s to do with your focus not being on each other, but on something else. Like the cards.” Q kept forgetting that conversations with one agent were new information to the other, and he braced for James to be embarrassed that he knew of their experimenting.

But instead, James hummed thoughtfully. “That... makes sense.”

“We could always try telling each other what to do with Q,” Alec suggested.

James’ hand tightened over Q’s. “ _There’s_ a thought,” he said softly, looking back over his shoulder at Q. “You enjoy scientific research, don’t you?”

For a brief moment, Q wondered just how submissive James was, or if any sort of giving orders heightened the enjoyment. Then he thought about what sorts of things Alec might come up with, and he became slightly nervous. “I do. But I think we should work up to anything elaborate, don’t you?”

“After breakfast,” Alec said.

“Sounds perfect.” James smiled and turned enough to kiss Q’s cheek. “Plates?”

“Yes, sir.” Q stepped away reluctantly, letting his hands linger on James’ body as long as possible before reaching to the dishes cupboard and taking down three new plates.

“So, after breakfast, you two go into the bedroom,” Alec said. “I’ll come up with something good to start.”

“The ‘something good’ had better be you washing up,” James warned.

Alec waved a hand. “I’ll take care of it. Just don’t get right in the shower. You’ll _both_ be too distracted.”

Q grinned, remembering how long he and James had ended up in the shower last night, counting when it was just the two of them, as well as when Alec joined. “Well, you’ll just have to figure that out and have us do something else.” He took the plates over to where Alec was sitting and leaned against him to set them on the counter. “And then come join us.”

“I think I have some ideas,” Alec said thoughtfully, turning to kiss Q’s ear.

James took the frying pan from the hob and brought it to the island. “As do I. This may take longer than just today.”

“I should hope so,” Q said, in a mock-serious tone, though he struggled not to grin. “Proper scientific method dictates repetition of the experiment to ensure conclusive results. This could take months.”


	17. Chapter 17

“Stonehenge?” Danielle suggested, brushing a spectral finger near the contoured surface of the antique globe. Sparks flew when her fingertip reached the convergence of ley lines under the stone age site. “That’s always a good bet, during the summer solstice.”

“Too commercial,” Q dismissed, barely glancing up from his more modern mapping program. It was a riot of colours, with active and dormant ley lines pulsing with light. Two years ago, he’d introduced tracking software into GPS satellites to help update ley lines in realtime.

“Commercial?”

Q hummed in assent. “Tourists, video crews... Nothing significant’s happened there for decades.”

Danielle sighed and drifted around Q’s desk to look at his map instead. “What about America? They’re full of mad cults, always stumbling upon dangerous half-truths.”

“They’ve also got an excellent network of hunters. A bit... _cowboy_ , but still.”

“Not unlike our two,” Danielle said wryly. “Though I suppose they’ve worked out well enough.”

“Haven’t they just?” Q couldn’t help the smug smile that swept across his face, but he refrained from looking at Danielle and rubbing it in. It had been eight months since he and his agents had laid claim to each other, and each mission got easier the closer they became. Scrying had certainly taken less of a toll, now that he was so tuned in to them both.

“Yes —” Danielle cut off at a loud _thud_ from the reading room. “With certain notable exceptions.”

Q got up to investigate. “Trixie is not an exception, Danielle. Well, not that kind, at least.” He stepped into the reading room to find his pet baby dragon — a winter solstice gift from Alec — had knocked over an armchair and was trying to shred it with three-inch-long claws. Luckily, Q had managed to develop soft claw covers for safety purposes, so the chair was no worse than before.

“Hello, darling. Are you bored? Miss your papas?” Q reached out to stroke Trixie’s head, making sure to follow the lay of jagged ridges and scales, not go against them. Trixie made a pleased sound that Alec had likened to a wookiee and pressed into the touch. “Me too, love. Let’s find you a toy.”

At the mention of toys, Trixie scrabbled to get upright, though their wings got in the way. Q helped sort out all of Trixie’s limbs, then got out of the way as the baby dragon made a beeline for the basket of soft toys — old couch cushions, actually — used for hunting practice.

“You do realise that dragon will be the size of a Sherman tank in just a few years,” Danielle said as she manifested beside Q. She only came out into the reading room when Trixie was distracted; otherwise, the dragon loved to play chase-the-ghost.

“The boys have promised we’ll only keep them in the city until they’re Cooper Mini-sized. Then it’s up to Skyfall for our Trixie.” Q looked at the hip-high dragon, trying to calculate how many months they had left before then.

Danielle huffed mournfully. “Grammar, Quartermaster,” she scolded. She’d never quite accepted the use of a plural pronoun for a singular creature of indeterminate gender.

“We use ‘they’ for Trixie, Danielle. I’m not about to randomly assign a gendered pronoun to any being under my care. And you know how hard it is to sex a dragon. Besides, they might not identify that way, anyway.” Q personally thought dragons deserved a multiplicitous identity no matter what, but he kept that to himself.

“It’s very imprecise,” she complained before she disappeared, probably to go back to studying the globe for signs of potential trouble spots.

Thankfully, Trixie didn’t have a predator’s instincts yet, so they missed Danielle’s appearance and disappearance completely. Once they dug out their favourite cushion — the one with three and a half remaining tassels — they trotted over to Q, pillow held absurdly high, and smacked him in the face with one corner.

Hollow bones saved Q from a concussion. Even though the dragon was the size of a young Irish wolfhound, Trixie was under twenty kilos — easily light enough for Q to lift and haul around if necessary, though the seven-foot wingspan sometimes made that more troublesome than it was worth.

As he took hold of one tassel and tugged until Trixie let go, Q called out, “What about that one ley line convergence off the coast of Japan? What with the tsunamis in that region and the nuclear fallout...” He raised the pillow over his head, and Trixie joyously leaped for it, only to end up tripping over one wing. A quick twist let Q block taking a dragon skull to the bollocks — something he’d painfully learned to avoid at all cost.

“Japan?” came James’ voice as the hallway doors swung open. He walked in, his grin marred slightly by a new cut from his upper lip to his cheekbone. He was carrying a long, awkward bundle under one arm, wrapped in what looked like a couple of leather jackets, and he had a tawny cat perched on one shoulder. “We like Japan. Lovely country.”

Warbling, Trixie tried to rush to greet James, though they forgot the pillow caught in too-long fangs. The dragon went tail-over-snout, and James sidestepped to avoid having his legs taken out from under himself.

Q stepped around the tangle of dragon limbs on the floor, cooing softly all the while, “It’s all right, darling. Calm down. James will still be here when you’ve sorted yourself out.” Then he looked up at James both fondly and assessingly, judging it was safe to throw an arm around his neck and kiss him. “You’re back early. Welcome home. You too, Alec.” He scratched the cat’s chin until he purred and put most of his weight on Q’s hand, then picked him up off James’ shoulder.

A tingle of energy warned Q in time to relax his hands as the cat shifted in a rush of icy air — the side-effect of the energy-to-mass conversion between a six kilo cat and a full-grown man. “We won,” Alec said unnecessarily and possibly untruthfully, judging by the bruises and cuts Q glimpsed on his naked body before he pulled Q into his arms for a proper kiss.

“Of course we won,” James said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “We shipped back anything that didn’t seem too hazardous. The rest is in the car.”

“Put on your dressing gown, Alec. You know how Danielle gets.” Q swatted at Alec’s arse, then looked back at James. “You took his whole collection? And does ‘win’ mean dead?” Q had worried about them going after this particular artefact collector, though he hadn’t wanted to show it.

“Dead _twice_ ,” James said with a hint of a pout in his voice. He dropped the coat-wrapped bundle on a chair and crouched down to greet Trixie, who’d finally sorted out their limbs and wings. “I suspect the collector was a necromancer.”

“What gave it away?” Alec called from the office where he was hopefully getting a dressing gown or trousers. “The army of skeletons?”

“The graveyard on his property wasn’t for show,” James said wryly, looking up at Q.

“Gods, James. Why didn’t you call for backup?” He reached down to brush his fingers along James’ cheek, the oft-used healing spell flitting through his mind. “I’ve just been working on solstice preparedness with Danielle.”

“I promise, we were fine.” James stood and cupped Q’s chin, holding him still for a sweet kiss. “Besides, Alec’s the one who fell off the roof.”

“For gods’ sakes, Alec! Come here and let me look at you.” Q darted a stern look at James before heading towards the office. “You know how I feel about your liberal definition of the word ‘fine’, James.”

“He was in half-shift form,” James said, hefting Trixie into his arms to follow Q.

“Cats always land on their feet and all,” Alec added unhelpfully. He’d put on jeans that were still unbuttoned, and he was leaning down over his laptop, probably checking email. Or Twitter, Facebook, or any of the other social media sites he wasn’t supposed to be able to access on his work computer. “James is the one who got into a bloody swordfight instead of using his teeth like a proper wolf.”

“I was in a two thousand quid suit,” James said bluntly.

“Not my fault. You’re the one who wanted to go in as an antiquities dealer.”

“I hate you both,” Q sighed, pushing his glasses up so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. “James, you haven’t practiced with a sword in ages. What were you thinking?”

“It’s like riding a bicycle,” James dismissed casually. “But I did bring it back for you. It’s got perfect balance. I thought maybe a spell or two to keep the edge sharp, and I could have it as part of my usual kit.”

“Because claws and fangs are overkill,” Alec muttered.

“You brought back a sword? Was it in the collection?” Q was already thinking about how to make a sword belt that would allow for a shift. The full wolf form would be the one to cause the most trouble.

“Centrepiece of the armoury,” James said with a quiet grunt as Trixie writhed over onto their back. He braced one knee against the desk to support the dragon’s unwieldy body, freeing one hand to provide the demanded belly-scratches. “Took the collector’s head with one swipe, when I finally got hold of the blade.”

“While I was holding off about sixty bloody animated skeletons,” Alec said. “Can we not forget that part?”

“Skeletons that would have clattered to the ground when the collector died. I always tell you to go for the source, Alec.” Q crowded in close to stroke Alec’s bare chest.

“Skeletons that were in the process of trying to shred James’ face until I jumped off the roof to distract them,” Alec said, giving James an exasperated look.

“‘The source’ being some horribly gaudy gemstone-studded medallion?” James asked. He finally eased Trixie onto the desk, pushing Alec’s laptop aside. The dragon flopped like a stuffed doll, warbling in delight at having all three humans nearby. “It was glowing like that radioactive mass under Chernobyl after the first time I killed him, so I’m assuming we might have radiation sickness or something.”

“My fur wasn’t falling out, was it?” Alec asked, finally showing some worry.

“Tell me you brought that home, as well. I can cast diagnostic spells on it to see how it was used and how it could have affected you.” Q’s hands were still on Alec, but he leaned his head back to tempt James with his mass of hair in easy reach.

James kissed the top of Q’s head, then combed his hair back from his eyes. “Sorry, love. Destroying it was the only thing that kept that bloody bastard from getting up a third time — even with his head detached. There might be traces on the blade, but the necklace imploded. Spectacular to see.”

“It gave you a nosebleed, and you were dizzy for two hours after,” Alec said.

“Wait. All that from striking the medallion with a _sword?_ What’s it made of?” Q turned to look at James wonderingly. Not many blades would do something like that, and they were rarely sword-shaped.

James turned and stepped away, presumably to get the sword, but Trixie started to slide off the edge of the desk. He quickly braced the dragon’s body with one hip and said, “Alec?”

“Sure, I’ll go fetch the sword you left lying about in the other room,” Alec said dryly as he headed for the office door. “And why aren’t you yelling at him, Q? I jumped off a roof, but _he’s_ the one who’s got an unbandaged cut on his pretty face.”

James smirked; the cut gave it a roguish edge. “Hear that, Q? He said I’m pretty.”

“You are.” Q smiled fondly at James, then turned to call after Alec. “And I’ve already taken care of that cut because I can _see_ it.”

With a quiet snicker, James leaned over, silently asking for a kiss. After Q obliged, James said, “Plus I’m pretty enough that I don’t need a scar to be noticeable. Right?”

Q rolled his eyes. “You’re a secret agent, James. You shouldn’t be noticeable in _any_ way.” He lightly touched James’ chin before he could pull away and added, “You are, though.”

“Oi. No starting anything without me,” Alec said as he came back into the office, now holding a bare sword, blade polished to a mirror finish that made Q blink and squint against the glare from the overhead lights. The hilt was carved gold, so bright that it looked almost like Alec was holding an open flame. He tossed the sword onto the other desk and crowded close to Q, demanding, “Attention, or I go cat and scratch your chair.”

“Give us a minute...” Q pushed away from both agents and untwisted the dragon tail from around his waist, never looking away from the sword.

When he got close enough to recognise a chimera’s head on the hilt, he found himself scared at what he might be seeing, and he rushed to turn off the office light. Amidst unheeded protests, he leaned close to the sword and peered hard at the engraving on the blade. Without the artificial light reflecting unnaturally bright off its surface, he could see the letters clearly. A simple spell helped him remember his Welsh, which he hadn’t studied for at least ten years.

 _Take me up,_ the engraving said in Welsh. He tugged the cuff of his jumper over his hand and did so, but only to turn it over and set it back down. On the other side, he found, _Cast me away._

He sat down hard on the desk chair nearby and shook his head to clear it. Then he looked over at his agents and whispered, _“Caledfwlch.”_

“Sorry?” Alec asked.

“Excalibur.” Q cleared his throat but there was nothing to add to such a pronouncement.

For a few moments, the only sound was Trixie’s whine of complaint that no one was paying attention to them. Then James asked, “Excalibur? From all the stories?”

"That's the one. The Pendragon's blade. Where did you say it was?" Q looked towards James but didn't quite see him.

“Middle of the collector’s armoury,” James said, sounding baffled. “That’s _actually_ Excalibur?”

“I thought it was stuck at the bottom of a lake,” Alec said, walking over to Q. “How’d that arse get hold of it?”

“Apparently, he was good at his fucking job.” Q reached his fingers out cautiously to touch the hilt. He knew touching the blade itself would throw him into a maelstrom of death, but the hilt? To be able to _feel_ Arthur, the legendary King of the Britons, would be beyond anything...

 

~~~

 

Soft, rumbling vibration filled Q’s chest. His head hurt in a way that was all too familiar, and he braced himself before cracking one eye open. When pain didn’t spike into his skull, he opened the other eye. Dim light, arched brick ceiling, blue eyes looking down at him, full of concern.

“That was a bloody foolish thing to do,” James said. “Psychometry on an artefact like that?”

Q groaned as the memories came back in a rush that threatened to overwhelm him. The purring sound got louder, and the weight on his chest shifted. Alec, in cat form, bumped his head into Q’s chin, whiskers tickling over Q’s neck. Leave it to Alec to decide Q would feel better with a heavy cat demanding attention — even if it worked. Q stroked his back, from ears to tail, until the room didn’t tilt when he raised his head. He kissed Alec’s furry forehead, then pushed his glasses up and focused on James’ face.

“Maybe so, but can you blame me?”

“Idiot,” James said fondly, leaning down to gently brush his fingertips over Q’s face. “Are you feeling all right now? Alec surrendered his jeans for a pillow, but if you’re done with them, he can put them back on and be useful.”

Alec hissed, claws digging into Q’s shirt and scratching his chest, which made Q hiss as well. “Ah. Enough, Alec. Let me up.”

Alec jumped off and rose up, shifting from fur to skin in a burst of cold energy. “You need something to drink?” he offered, leaning down to pick up his folded jeans as soon as Q sat up.

“No, thank you. I just need to sit. And think.” Q stood and made a clicking noise with his tongue. “Come, Trixie.” He headed straight for an armchair in the reading room, where the candlelight was gentle on his eyes, and sat down.

Warbling in distress, Trixie walked — tripped, actually — over to him. Their head flopped down on his knee, and soulful red eyes stared up at him. With every breath, Trixie snorted out puffs of somewhat fragrant smoke; the dragon was too immature to produce proper flame, which was the only reason they were allowed anywhere near the library.

James dragged over an armchair to join Q. “Is the sword going to cause us problems? I’m not particularly interested in being king — and I’m fairly certain Alec would be a terrible —”

 _“Oi!”_ Alec shouted, stalking out like the half-dressed savage he so often was. “I’d be a bloody fantastic king. Besides, it’d be an excuse to meet the Queen, and she’s just _fun_.”

Q smiled tiredly as he pet Trixie’s head. “Briton doesn’t exist anymore, and you didn’t pull it from an oversized rock, so we’re safe. But to wield the sword of the Pendragon... I think we should save that for special occasions, don’t you?”

“I’m not entirely certain,” James admitted. “‘Overkill’ means two different things to field agents and execs.”

“He’s right,” Alec said, making room for himself on the arm of Q’s chair, so he could comb his fingers through Q’s hair. He still offered Q the shifter-cat bite at least once a week. “I’d rather have that sword in the field with us for basic missions than underestimate a threat and be stuck with a letter opener.”

Q gawped at them for a good fifteen seconds. “One, you know I hate being called an exec. Two, not ten minutes ago you didn’t even know of its existence, and now it’s necessary kit? It’s unwieldy for half of the missions you go on. Not to mention the fact that if it ended up in the wrong hands, we could be in very serious trouble.”

“If it ends up out of _our_ hands, we’d be dead.” Alec paused thoughtfully. “And it was _in_ the wrong hands to begin with, and nothing bad happened.”

“I suppose we’re over the skeleton army,” James murmured.

“Shut it. Do you want your sword locked up in Q’s desk except on special occasions?”

Q looked at them both sternly, as much the quartermaster as he could muster. “It was in the hands of an avaricious amateur who dabbled in necromancy and was more interested in the sword’s prestige than anything else. Give _Caledfwlch_ to a real sorcerer, one who knows how to raise the dead properly — not just make some skeletons dance —  and humanity’s chances at survival just got mighty slim.”

Alec and James exchanged a look. “Did you want it?” James offered, looking at Q.

“Me? Why would — What would I do...” Q paused, his heart skipping at the idea that his agents thought he was a real sorcerer. It was sweet — and to his mind, a bit naive — but he appreciated the vote of confidence. “I have no quarrel with the human race. Nor do I have delusions of grandeur. All I need is a bit of interesting work and, well —”

“Can you raise the dead?” Alec asked curiously.

James stared at him. _“Why?”_

Alec held up a hand, though he kept petting Q. “Because! Look how many people the execs complained about us killing instead of capturing. If we could kill them, _then_ interrogate them, our jobs would be significantly easier. Especially if we only needed the head or something. Easier to smuggle a head than a whole dead body.”

Q shook his head, though not quite enough to dislodge Alec’s hand. “It’s... It’s not something one should do lightly. Many believe it’s not something the living have the right to interfere with at all. I’ve studied the art, but for research purposes, not...” Q stopped, coming to his senses, and frowned deeply at the both of them. “Hang on, are you mad? One doesn’t interrogate severed heads. What do you think this is, The Addams Family?”

Alec’s eyes lit up. “I liked that one.”

“You liked the movie better than the show,” James scoffed.

“Just because I didn’t grow up watching the show doesn’t mean —”

“Don’t you start,” James interrupted. “I am _not_ discussing classic TV with you again.”

“It’s still a good idea,” Alec said, turning back to Q. “Isn’t it? I mean, you told us ouija boards are rubbish, so how else can we interrogate the dead if not with their... you know. _Parts_.”

“It’s a horrid idea. One _mustn’t_ interrogate the dead, Alec. It’s absurd. And grisly. And it disrupts the balance.” Q picked up Trixie and brought them onto the chair, narrowly dodging a blow to the head by a flailing wing. It took a couple of moments to get Trixie nestled in his lap, but the warmth of the dragon’s belly on his legs was welcome. “And it doesn’t solve our Excalibur problem.”

“If we can’t carry it, we’ll have to lock it away,” James said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. He leaned against Q’s chair and scratched at Trixie’s head. “You said dragons guard treasure...”

Q nodded towards the bundle of limbs and scales in his lap. “You know this one would let you have anything they were guarding at the drop of a hat. Or the scratch of a chin.” He inclined his face toward James and watched him as he looked at Trixie. “I’m not trying to keep the sword from you — hoard it away and let it rust in a cupboard. I just want to give it the respect it deserves.”

“Then Trixie’s the perfect solution,” Alec said, moving his hand from Q’s hair to the dragon’s wingtip. He scratched around the dewclaw — a ticklish spot — and Trixie wriggled, huffing smoke. “Artefact of power, draconic treasure resonance... If they claim the sword for their hoard, they’ll get the sword’s strength, and the sword will be safe. And they’ll give it to us to borrow whenever we want. Right, baby?” he cooed at the dragon.

“Actually...” Q turned to look in wonder at Alec. “That’s not a bad idea at all. Until, of course, we move them to Skyfall.”

Alec looked up from Trixie, and his smile turned into a frown. “What? I pay attention.”

James laughed. “Fair enough. If that’s the best way to keep the sword safe, let’s do that, Q. We can worry about Trixie growing up in a few months. Maybe they’ll let us borrow the sword long-term for missions.”

“If we offer enough pillows in trade,” Alec said with a shrug.

“Do you think” — Q reached up to touch each of his agents as they in turn petted Trixie — “that when our dear dragon grows up they’ll move on to something other than pillows? Or are we in for a very _comfy_ hoard?”

Alec leaned in and nudged Q’s head aside, baring the side of his neck. After a quick nip that sent shivers down Q’s spine, Alec said, “You like lots of pillows, Quartermaster.”

“And _we_ would very much like them, as well,” James added. “We’ve been up all night.”

Q took the hint, and brought himself back to focus on his post-mission agents. “Yes. Right. You must be exhausted. Let’s get you home.” Trixie protested as he tried to stand up, so he added, “You too, Smokebreath. We wouldn’t forget you. Grab their collar?”

James got up to retrieve the collar hanging by the exit doors. The collar had started out as plain leather, but Trixie had refused to wear it until it had been covered with gems and decorated with a fringe of gold thread, with a polished silver buckle instead of plain brass. For now, Q had been able to distract Trixie with amethyst and turquoise, but he had the sinking suspicion that age would bring sophistication, and the dragon would eventually demand real diamonds.

Because of this, he also suspected that Paris Hilton’s little toy dogs weren’t dogs after all. How in hell a pomeranian or chihuahua could carry a collar studded with gems _without_ draconic strength, he couldn’t imagine.

Alec dropped his jeans and shifted into cat form in a burst of heat and light. As soon as James used the collar to lure Trixie off Q’s lap, Alec took their place, purring and butting his head into Q’s jaw. Q had to close his eyes and rub his nose clear of ticklish fur, and by the time he had Alec nestled comfortably on one shoulder, James had Trixie — now in the form of a great dane puppy — sitting at his side.

“We’ll stop and get dinner on the way home?” James asked, holding out his arm to Q. “I’m too tired to cook.”

Q took James’ arm and pulled him close. “Or order takeaway, so we don’t have to disturb the menagerie once in the car. Besides, I want you both in bed as quickly as possible.”

James leaned comfortably against Q’s side and smiled in thanks when Q reached out to get the doors. “I have to admit, we never liked when missions ended, until now. It’s nice for us to have you to come home to.”

“I do tend to spoil you as much as I can,” Q teased. “But I confess that it makes the risk worthwhile to be the one here when you get home.” Alec purred in Q’s other ear, making him shiver again. The sound echoed hollowly as they walked down the tile corridor towards the car park exit.

“Thank you,” James said quietly. When Q looked up, he smiled and said, “For giving us the chance. You didn’t want us at first, but I think it’s worked — Oh, damn.” He stopped, looking back down the hall.

“What is it, love?”

“We forgot Excalibur.” James tipped his head, then barked out a laugh, turning to grin at Q. “How often do you get to say that?”

“I hope you know how cross I’ll be if you ever have cause to say it again, so let’s hope the answer is once in a lifetime.” Q kissed James’ cheek and added, “Run along and get your sword. I’ll wait here with the pets.” Alec’s claws dug into Q’s shoulder, making him wince. “Sorry, I meant family members.”

“Yes, the cat that’s our ‘boyfriend’ and the dragon disguised as a dog.” James gave Q a quick kiss, then headed for the reading room, though he had to stop twice to tell Trixie to stay. Dragons weren’t exactly trainable.

Q called after him, “Get a lead, too! Trixie’s, not the one for your wolf.”

“Right!” James answered before he disappeared into the reading room. Alec flexed his claws and head-butted Q again, purring like a broken lawn mower.

Q reached up to scratch Alec’s ears, murmuring, “Yes, dear. I’m happy to love on you, too.” He sighed and wondered if he really was mad enough to try to keep house with a wolf and a cat and a dragon, more than half of which were also the best agents he’d ever known. It felt rare to find such a good working relationship, especially with the two biggest problem agents MI6 had, but for the three of them to also work so well as lovers — partners, really — seemed little short of miraculous. Or maybe it was just magical.

Tanner had been right after all, damn him. James and Alec really were the best fit, both for MI13 and for Q himself.

Not that Q would actually tell him that. Ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading and for your kudos and comments! We currently have no plans to continue this story, unless we get hold of a TARDIS and have time to address all the plot bunnies, ever.


End file.
